


Locked

by ronandhermy



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-05-14
Packaged: 2018-01-07 03:32:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 48,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronandhermy/pseuds/ronandhermy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony the Cop's attempts to get Ian and Lip out of trouble fall a bit short. The boys are heading for Juvie, or at least one of them is. </p>
<p>AU for 1x12 and after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Relization

Ian’s mind was in a state of panic as he tried to keep his mouth shut and his head down. Tried not to think about that fact that he was _fucking fucked so fucked it wasn’t even funny_ all because of fucking Jimmy. Lip never should have gotten involved with him. Nothing good ever came out of Fiona’s boyfriends. Even the sorta, maybe, if you squint hard enough, good ones. Absolutely butt fucking nothing. 

Lip was trying to make a smart allack remark _because that’s what Lip does_. But it wasn’t helping anything. It didn’t matter what Lip said, unless some miracle happened they were both going to be locked down. Juvie. That meant Fiona would be down two people to help with the squirrel fund. Two more Gallaghers with records. Two more South Side fuck ups.

It wasn’t like Jimmy was going to burst in through the station’s doors and give himself up. You didn’t get to be a car thief with a conscience, and you certainly didn’t stay a thief if you were going to give yourself up for your girlfriend’s siblings the first time something went wrong. Not going to happen. Like usual, the Gallaghers were on their own.

Tony was trying. Lip had his eyes trained on the blond cop who looked like he was trying to argue on behalf of the Gallagher brothers. Never before had Ian been so thankful that a cop wanted to get with his sister. But from the tensing of Lip’s shoulders, whatever was going down amongst the detectives and sergeants and street cops wasn’t going exactly to plan.

Ian took to looking at the linoleum floor and going over the proper way to disassemble and assemble a military grade rifle. If he could focus on the practical, on a skill, he would be all right. He would get through this like he did everything. Somehow. 

“Well boys,” the Detective who could stand to lose more than a few pounds, “I’ve got some bad news and some slightly less bad news.”

Ian and Lip glanced at each other before staring down the overweight excuse for law enforcement. 

“Bad news for you two, you’re most likely gonna end up in Juvie. If your lucky, maybe enough community service hours to give a saint pause. That's if the judge is some soft hearted do-gooder but I bet you're going to get one of those real Chicago style judges. Better news, you’re only getting charged with accessory to grand theft auto so you won’t be spending too long playing drop the soap. Might even be out before summer. But,” and the Detective gave them a half condescending smirk, “I think we all know you’ll all be back before too long.”

“But I told you Ian had nothing to do with it,” Lip protested, putting strain on his cuffs as he made to stand up, anger written over every inch of his body.

“Doesn’t matter. Ignorance of the law is no excuse boys,” and the Detective shuffled his paper work and left one fuming teenager and one scared red head to sit on the bench and contemplate their fate.

He was going to Juvie. Ian Gallagher, the one with the steady job, the ROTC commitments, the future plans. He was going to Juvie. _Fuck._


	2. Sentencing

They were moved down to County, in a special ward for the other minor delinquents, and given their first pair of prison uniforms. At least, Ian’s first pair. Lip had done this twice before back when he’d had a rough rebellious phase in freshman year. But that had only landed him in lock down for maybe a month at most each time. It was vandalism sure, but it was vandalism with an educational purpose behind it. At least that’s how Lip had spun it when he’d been before the judge, rattling on about the class divide that came about from Russian power structures developed from the Vikings and Mongols that had never truly been dismantled. Ian was fairly sure the judge had just given Lip a lighter sentence to get him to shut up.

Which is probably what would happen once they were sent to the courtroom. Ian didn’t think he’d be that lucky. 

Lip was trying to come up with a strategy, some way to wiggle them free of the prison punishment hook, but it was a bit difficult when you didn’t have access to even a library. Even if Lip couldn’t get off, his previous offenses working against him, he was sure as hell going to try and get his little brother out of this predicament. He hadn’t even wanted to find his real dad in the first place, he’d just gone along with Lip.

When they were escorted to the courtroom, the prison garb and shackles rubbing their skin the wrong way, Ian could hardly look at his family sitting in the civilian seats. He tried to smile at Debbie but he knew it fell short. Lip seemed to be communicating with Fiona with his eyes, saying things like _Don’t worry, I’ve got this, I’ll fix it, I can fix anything, I’ll make it better._ And Ian hoped to God that was true.

Lip went first, being the oldest, and he barely got to lay out his highly detailed defense and dismantling of the social structure into which he was born before the judge cut him off. Judge Ketcher was a wizened African American woman with graying hair and a thick pair of purple glasses that she peered over to look at those who dared to enter into her courtroom.

“Mr. Gallagher,” her voice, like a whip cracking the air, stopped Lip’s speech, “it is obvious that you are smart. Too smart some might say. But for possessing a degree of higher intelligence it is apparent you also have a lot to learn. Mainly, that you cannot commit crimes and expect to talk your way out of a reasonable punishment.”

Lip’s eyes were mocking and Ian wanted to kick his brother’s shins and tell him not to piss off this woman with the gavel.

“You have also led your brother astray. Now, in light of your previous convictions it is apparent that juvenile detention facilities just aren’t a big enough deterrent for you. So, I am sentencing you to 250 community service hours and, until you have completed a majority of those hours, you will reside in a group home. Only once you paid your debt to society will you be allowed to return to your family.”

“How much is a majority? How much do I have to do?” Lip protested, his expression one of shock and anger. His eyes screamed _You can’t take me away from my family._

“You’re smart Mr. Gallagher, I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Judge Ketcher replied, before ending the trial with a hit of her gavel. The guards moved forward and helped escort a shell-shocked Lip to his seat.

“Mr. Ian Gallagher,” the judge called, and Ian was up and standing in-front of his executioner. 

The chargers were read out, Ian pleaded not guilty, the evidence was presented, and it was determined that Ian was, in point of fact, guilty of accessory to grand theft auto.

“Now Mr. Gallagher, I’m not sure what to make of you. From your record, or rather, your lack of one, you seem to be a good kid. While your presence here may signal to many that you have decided on a less than honest life I’d like to think that you just took a wrong turn. However, you have been found guilty and there must be a sentence handed down.”

Ian nodded, his freckles standing out against his pale skin. He swallowed and tried not to look away from the woman who could decide his fate.

“In light of your character, I put forth this option. You will serve six weeks in a juvenile detention center and, if you manage to keep yourself out of trouble for a year after your release, the charges will be struck from your record, allowing you to pursue a career in the armed forces unhindered.” And just like that the judge offered a life line, perhaps small and frail and weak to most people, but a beacon of hope to Ian nonetheless. 

Ian nodded his agreement before giving the verbal “yes” when prompted. He could make up the school work he would miss over summer school. He could be a good kid, had been a good kid for the most part until this incident, and he could do this. It would be hard to be away from his family of course, but at least he’d be home before Lip. 

“This is trial has ended,” Judge Ketcher said, hitting the gavel once more. Then she leaned forward and spoke in the way a grandmother might to an errant grandchild, “I don’t want to see you in my courtroom again, you hear me?”

Ian nodded and replied with a “Yes ma’am,” before the guards escorted him out. 

And he tried to block out the anger in Lip’s eyes, the worry in Fiona’s, the sadness in Debbie’s, the confusion in Carl’s and the reaching of Liam’s arms for big brothers who couldn’t pick him up right now. Instead he focused on breathing, on trying not to let himself get dragged down by the tow of his emotions. He couldn’t afford to cry right now. Not for a long while.

Juvie didn’t favor those who appeared weak after all.


	3. First Day

Lip tried to shove Ian full of advice and last minute information before they were separated. _Keep your head down, but don’t act weak. Don’t align with any gang if you can help it because they’ll expect favors once you’re on the outside. Make sure people know you can fight so they won’t mess with you but don’t start fights. Don’t get involved if you can help it. Don’t be a kiss ass either._ And on and on until Ian wanted to smack Lip upside the head.

He knew his big brother wanted to protect him, to let him know that even if he wasn’t there that someone still had his back. But Lip couldn’t protect him, not here, not now, and they both knew it. 

They managed to get in one last fierce hug before they were separated. Lip to a white van with a barrier protecting the driver from the people in the back seat, and Ian to a school bus that had special grooves to hook his shackles into. Ian held on to his big brother for all he was worth, trying to tell him it was all right, he didn’t blame Lip for any of this. And then a guard was separating the two boys, and Lip disappeared behind closed, tinted doors.

Ian turned in his seat on the bus, watching as his brother drove away. And somehow, in his heart of hearts, Ian knew Lip was watching him too. 

There were other people on the bus, most of the kids were around Lip’s age and they all seemed to know how this rodeo worked. There were a few black kids, one who just seemed perpetually angry while the rest just looked bored. There was a fidgeting Mexican behind Ian but the Wop who sat next to him quickly made the younger boy stop. There were a couple of Chinese and Korean kids on the bus, as well as Eddie from down the block. Ian didn’t even bother to nod hello at the blond haired druggie. It was obvious that withdrawal was not treating him well.

Nobody really talked, except for Eddie who was muttering underneath his breath about something or other. Ian tried to focus on making a new plan. He’d had a plan before, one that did not include Juvie time, so now he was trying his best to work in this new bump in the road. He was a Gallagher, Gallaghers always got hit with the shit end of the stick that was life but they always got back up again. Somehow.

He focused on his anger instead of his panic when they pulled in behind those fences with barbered wire on top. They were all led out of the bus, through the courtyard and through the large locked metal doors before they had their shackles unlocked. Ian resisted the urge to rub his wrists like some of the other boys, one less sign of weakness. 

They were assigned their dorm wing and their roommates. Ian was paired with the twitchy Mexican, whose name turned out to be Andy Rodriguez. As they set up their beds in cell block 7 in Wing D, well Ian put on his sheet and blankets properly while Andy just threw his down on his bed in a makeshift nest, Andy asked what he was in for.

“Accessory to grand theft auto,” Ian replied without much inflection and a half shrug of his shoulders, “You?”

“A little of this, a little of that,” the boy, with a slightly pointed face and a crooked smile, said as he drummed his fingers against his thigh, “got charged with aggravated assault, but my public defender managed to get down to simple assault and battery.” And he laughed a long, high pitched laugh that made Ian’s neck hairs stand up on end. 

“Don’t worry so much kid,” Andy laughed, “You look like a worrier.”

Ian just shrugged his shoulders and kept his mouth shut. It was obvious that Andy was a talker. And he didn’t care about Ian one way or the other as long as he had a willing audience to talk at. Since they were cell mates it was apparent that Ian fit that bill.

By the time dinner time came Ian was grateful to slip away from the constant fidgeter and into the mess line. He wasn’t sure what was being heaped onto his metal tray but he sure as hell knew that it shouldn’t be considered food. He just gave the server a look of disbelief before heading to the tables. It was by some miracle that he was able to find an empty table in the far corner of the mess hall, easily side stepping his roommate and his gang of “cousins.” 

He kept his head down and was about to attempt to eat whatever the brown blob was on his plate when he heard someone put their tray down in front of his.

“Gallagher, what the fuck are you doing here?” came that familiar voice. It was a mix of disbelief and amusement with that ever present tension of anger, and Ian looked up with a grin into the face of Mickey Milkovich. The dark haired boy set his crutches down before settling into the seat across from Ian.

“It’s good to see you too Mick,” Ian said, his grin still on his face. He was tempted to reach out and shake the boy’s hand if only to initiate some contact. But he had a feeling Mickey might deck him for it.

Mickey wanted to hit the red head on principle for giving such a puppy dog smile in Juvie. 

“No, why the fuck are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be out doing ghetto goodie two shoes things like not stealing from your neighborhood?” Mickey asked, his eyes trained on Ian, as he dug into the substance optimistically called food.

“Stole a car,” Ian said with a shrug of his shoulders, “Well, Jimmy stole it, Lip and I just borrowed it for a bit.”

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey nearly choked on the thing the kitchen worker had called stew, “Didn’t think you had it in you. So how long you in for? Can’t be less than six months.”

“Six weeks. Judge went easy on me ‘cause it’s my first time,” Ian replied, fiddling with his food again. He tried to block out the taste as he ate. 

“What’d you do, suck him off before the sentencing?” Mickey couldn’t help but ask. No one from the South Side got six weeks for grand theft. No one, it seemed, except for goodie-two-shoes Gallagher.

“Fuck off,” Ian replied good naturedly, his smile creeping out again. He glanced at Mickey from underneath his eyelashes, but he made no move to show that they were more than friends. Not with Andy giving him the once over from his table on the other side of the mess.  
“How’s the leg?” Ian asked, as he swallowed down another mouthful of food.

“Hurts like a bitch since they took my pain meds away but I should be off the crutches in a few days,” Mickey replied, oddly forth coming. It was almost like Ian getting thrown into Juvie had made him and younger Milkovich friends instead of just fuck buddies. “Can still kick your ass.”

“Ok,” Ian said, but with far too much snark to actually be a legitimate answer. 

Mickey paused in his eating and looked at Gallagher, “I’ll kick your ass.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Ian said with a grin, knowing that this was shit talk. Neither of them wanted to fight each other but it was an easy give and take script that every street kid learned early on.

“Fucking pussy,” Mickey shot back.

Ian just rolled his eyes at the older boy before returning to poking back at his food. 

Maybe Juvie wouldn’t be as bad as he’d thought.


	4. Fight Club

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, a racial slur is used in this chapter

It took a week before Ian got into his first fight. He didn’t start it, no matter what the guards thought, but he sure as hell finished it. He had been in the showers, attempting to rub off the industrial grime that seemed to sink into very air in this place, when he felt someone watching him. And not in a good way.

The guy’s name was Jesus and he ran with Andy but those two boys didn’t seem that close. Still, Jesus must have been making a power grab by trying to assert his dominance over the roommate of his inner gang rival. He was bigger than most of the boys here, tall, with a large tattoo on his side of brass knuckles. Ian didn’t know what he was in for and he didn’t care. All he cared about was not getting caught in-between whatever pissing contest was happening with the Mexicans.

“Hey pretty boy,” Jesus had called, as he had stalked towards Ian. 

Ian hadn’t said a word.

“Aww come on pretty boy, you don’t got to be like that,” Jesus said, a weird mix of threatening and mockery coloring his words, “Don’t you wanna suck my dick?” The few boys in the bathroom tittered in laughter at that, like this was all some fucking joke. Except Mickey, who just watched from the side lines with a wary guarded look on his face. Ian did not expect, nor did he want, Mickey to step in. This was his fight and he’d win it.

Ian ran his hands through his damp hair and turned off the water, glancing at the other boy to gauge where he was standing, before looking away.

“Come here pretty boy,” Jesus said as he reached out and grabbed Ian’s shoulder. 

Except Ian turned and pulled a classic Gallagher and headbutted the bigger boy. It was obvious from the bleeding guy’s reaction that he hadn’t been expecting a fight. Well a fight was what he got. Like hell Ian was willing going to be some guy’s prison bitch. 

It dissolved into full out fighting from there. Jesus may have had more street altercations on his side but Ian had the benefit of ROTC and growing up in a house with Frank, Lip and Carl, plus fighting Mickey on occasion. It was a close fight but it turned out Ian had the stamina. He finally managed to knee the guy in the groin, and he dropped like a fucking dead weight onto the floor. 

Of course the guards decided to show up at that exact moment. Ian had a black eye, a split lip that still leaked blood and a bruise around his right kidney but at least the rest of the boys knew not to mess with him. The Gallagher kid could hold his own. 

For his reward for the fight he got three stitches on his lip, a month added to his sentence and a day in solitary confinement before he was released into the general juvie population once again. He knew Fiona would be pissed but Fiona wasn’t here. Instead, it seemed like his fellow inmates were almost proud of him for handing out an ass kicking.

Andy had been surprisingly chill when he’d been returned to their cell. He seemed to think it was hilarious in point of fact. At least the Mexicans weren’t going to be looking for revenge. This time at least. 

In the mess hall the next morning Mickey had raised his eyebrows at Ian and involuntarily licked his lips. Ian had smirked at the older boy and tried not think of bending him over and fucking him on the table. Instead he got what passed for breakfast in this place sat across from the now crutch-less boy. 

“How’s the leg?” Ian asked.

“Better than your face,” Mickey replied with half a grin as he spoke around a mouthful of instant eggs.

“Fuck you,” Ian said with a little laugh as he dug into his meat by product. 

“Heard you got another month for dropping that beaners ass,” Mickey said, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah, guards can’t get enough of me,” Ian said, rolling his eyes. He poked the other imitation sausage link before his stomach told him to _not even fucking think about it._ Instead of trying to eat in he shoved it on to Mickey’s tray. The dark haired boy didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow before digging into the additional food. 

The conversation drifted and before Ian realized it breakfast was over. He grabbed Mickey’s tray and put it under his own before dropping it off at the cleaning station. They both headed to the common area, Mickey limping slightly from the healing bullet wound. Ian subtly adjusted his pace to match his friends.

In the common area, Mickey and Ian had gotten into a fierce debate about which action hero would win in a knife fight when a guard called out, “Gallagher, you've got a visitor.”

Ian hopped off the table he’d been sitting on and walked over to the guard. As he’d walked through the corridors he tried to think of who would come to visit him. It wouldn’t be Lip, he was lock down, it might be Fiona but she usually worked right now, maybe Debbie but he hoped it wasn’t. He didn’t like the idea of her down in this part of the city without at least a knife. Or Carl. Carl was a good as a knife at times.

What he saw was a headful of colorful hair attached to Mandy Milkovich as she sat in a too tight top underneath a leather jacket on the other side of the Plexiglas.

“Mandy,” Ian said as he picked up the phone, he didn’t even get to ask _What are you doing here_ before Mandy spoke up.

“Ian, what the hell?” she asked, furious at where Ian was and how he’d gotten into this situation. Ian was supposed to be the good kid in the neighborhood. And then she noticed Ian’s black eye and stitched lip and her expression changed completely, “Shit. Are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” Ian assured her with a small smile, “Little fight, nothing to worry about.”

“It wasn’t Mickey, was it?” Mandy asked, just to be sure. If it was Mickey she’d have to have words with her brother about picking on her “boyfriend.”

“No, just some guy trying to make a point. I don’t think he did as good of a job as he would have liked,” Ian said with a cocky grin. His grin slowly turned into one of warmth as he looked at Mandy. She hadn’t come to see her own brother but she’d dealt with the sleazy guards to come visit him. “Hey,” he said, gently, “you doing all right?”

“Don’t worry about me,” Mandy said with a smile, “Turns out having a boyfriend in Juvie is enough to scare most of the creeps off. Don’t want to mess with your gang buddies.” And then she and Ian were both laughing at that thought. It was nice to laugh without someone thinking they needed to fight to balm their wounded pride. 

They slipped into easy conversation and Ian felt the time passed too quickly when the guards yelled at him to hang up the phone. 

“Will you come back?” Ian had to ask. He didn’t want to hope if there was no reason too.

“You’re my boyfriend,” she said with a smile, “Of course I’ll be back.”

And Ian couldn’t help but feel the warmth of comfort and friendship deep in his bones. He almost missed Andy commenting, “Damn Gallagher, that your girl?” as he appreciatively watched Mandy walked away.

“Yeah,” Ian said with an honest grin and a secret deep in his heart, “I got pretty lucky.”


	5. Read to Me

Ian was half way through serving his sentence. Well, half the sentence plus the additional two and a half months he had managed to rack up due to fighting. It wasn’t his fault people thought he’d be an easy target. He just proved to be harder to pin down than most.

Mickey’s leg was finally completely healed and he’d taken to using the weight room on a regular basis. The older boy had become a lot less paranoid about hanging out with Ian once word got around that Ian was dating Mickey’s sister, and damn was she hot in a ghetto hottie sort of way. It was now seen as perfectly socially acceptable among all the inmates that Mickey would hang out with his sister’s boyfriend as opposed to just a guy from his neighborhood. 

Ian had just shrugged it off. Whatever made Mickey not act like a paranoid raccoon in a trash can was fine by him. It wasn’t like they fucked. No privacy to do so. Or even did anything gay like hold hands. Neither of them was looking to get knifed. So they just hung out, like they were friends. They were actually friends, Ian had come to realize. 

Ian had also come to realize that he was one of the few juvie inmates who decided to use some of their free time to read. He figured he might as well work his way through the reading list for English this year. It was his best subject and if he could get ahead in it that meant he could focus on his harder subjects like math and science.

He was currently engrossed in _The Catcher in the Rye_ when Mickey started to demand his attention from his regiment of pull ups. 

“Gallagher,” Mickey said, half sing songy as he completed another pull up. Ian refused to look up but he did smirk. Just a little bit. 

“Gallagher,” Mickey barked, finally drawing Ian’s attention away from the book. He just gave Mickey a look.

“What’re you giving me that look for?” Mickey asked, like he hadn’t been demanding Ian’s attention less than five seconds ago. 

Ian was this close to throwing his book at Mickey’s grinning face but he decided that the book had already received enough abuse for its life time. “What Mickey?” Ian asked instead, with an air of long suffering patience, “I’m reading.”

“I can see that dumbass,” Mickey replied, rolling his eyes and doing another pull up, “Read to me.”

Ian just gave him a look that said _are you fucking serious right now?_

And Mickey just grinned and waited for Ian to give in. Because Ian always gave in. It had become a habit that Ian would read aloud some of whatever book he had as a way to mildly entertain Mickey. At least, until Mickey had to interrupt and bitch about whatever had just been read. 

“Fine,” Ian sighed, before returning to his book and reading aloud, “When you're dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you're dead? Nobody.”

“Kid’s got a point,” Mickey interrupted just as Ian knew he would. He always interrupted and Ian always let him get away with it.

“I don’t know. I always figured funerals were for family. The people who had to pay for your burial and stuff. If they want to spend the money because it makes them feel better about weeping over your corpse they should be allowed to do so,” Ian replied. 

“Seems like a load of bull shit to me,” Mickey replied as he attempted to do three pull ups in a row, “When you’re dead you don’t give a shit about anything. Even if there is such a thing as heaven or hell it’s not like you’ll care what worms you end up feeding. Your book’s got the right idea.”

“Remind me not to invite you to any funerals,” Ian noted, dog earring his page.

“Come on,” Mickey said, finally finishing his set, “We both know I’m the life of the party.”

“A dead man’s party,” Ian shot back with a grin.

“Don’t be such a smart ass,” Mickey replied, cuffing Ian on the back of the head. But it was far gentler then anyone would think of the Milkovich boy and Ian welcomed the touch, however harsh it might be. And for a moment, just the briefest of moments, it was almost like Mickey was running his hand through Ian’s hair.


	6. Last Day

“Getting out tomorrow,” Mickey noted as they sat down for breakfast. Ian just shuffled his sausages, if they could be called that, onto Mickey’s trey. He’d given up trying to digest them a long ago and Mickey seemed to have an intestinal system forged in the bowels of Chernobyl. 

“Gallagher,” Mickey said, making sure he’d gotten Ian’s attention before giving him an expectant look.

“What? I heard you,” Ian replied, trying to gag down the instant eggs. 

“So,” Mickey said, shoveling a whole sausage into his face.

“So I’m getting out. Freedom. Woo,” Ian said, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm but a large amount of his snark. 

“Christ Gallagher, most guys would be thrilled to be free of this shit hole.,” Mickey couldn’t help but point out. 

“I’m happy to be going home all right,” Ian replied, reaching for his orange juice, “But I’ll miss you.”

Mickey seemed taken aback before saying quietly, but with a sudden intensity, “Don’t say that. You can’t just say shit like that Gallagher. Especially not here.”

Ian shrugged because he knew that, but given the chance he would say it again. It was the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help him God. And it seemed Mickey knew that too because he side-stepped the conversation that couldn’t be held in this environment. 

“So you think you’ll be back to working for towel-head?” Mickey asked, downing his cup of orange juice in one gulp.

Ian watched the older boy’s throat constrict around the liquid and watched as a tattooed hand wiped at his mouth. When he finally processed the question he gave out a small laugh. “Probably. Got enough blackmail on ‘em, don’t I?” And Ian smirked.

Juvie had made Ian a bit harder, a bit quicker to review the damning evidence he had against the people he knew. In the neighborhood he could at least let down his guard a bit at home but in Juvie he had to be on guard every second of the day. He couldn’t afford to show one second of weakness or else some of the new guys, or lower ranked gang members, would try to jump him to make a name for themselves. The only person he could relax around, if only just a little bit, was Mickey. 

Mickey knew his secrets and he sure as hell wasn’t telling. Because most of Ian’s secrets were Mickey’s as well. Yet there was an unspoken acknowledgment that they didn’t want to hurt each other. They just wanted to live. Live without fear. And if they found that lack of fear in a growing redhead or a tattooed thug then so be it. Freedom could be found in people as well as places.

Mickey laughed, but there was a slight strain to it, as if he couldn’t shrug off that fact that Ian was leaving, leaving him, before the clock struck noon the next day. 

“I’ll come visit,” Ian said softly, his eyes fixed on his half-empty tray.

“Like hell you will,” Mickey mocked, cracking his knuckles more for show then as a threat.

“I will,” and Ian looked up and tried to convey the real meaning behind his words. He would be lonely without Mickey. His family wouldn’t understand, not really. Lip was always able to manipulate and make friends in the right places whereas Ian had earned the nickname “Gang-fight Gallagher” even though he didn’t belong to a gang. Mickey knew what it was like to fight. To defend. To walk the fine line of independent and outcast. 

“Who said I’d want you to,” Mickey snarked and stole some of Ian’s eggs.

Ian just rolled his eyes and said, “How does this shit not make you sick? It’s like 95% chemicals and 5% cardboard.”

“You’re just weak,” Mickey scoffed around his imitation eggs.

“Stronger than you,” Ian challenged with a grin.

“That so,” Mickey remarked, “Ten bucks says I can do more pullups then you.”

“Twenty if you can beat me at pushups,” Ian shot back, crowing in the back of his head. He’d been getting in extra push up practice in his cell when Andy would talk at him. The older Mexican boy didn’t like when Ian would try to read during Andy’s stories so Ian had taken to doing additional exercise while he pretended to listen. No way was Mickey winning this one.

“Prepare to pay up,” Mickey fired back, and the boys exchanged a quick handshake over their greasy gray trays. 

In the end Ian won the bet through sheer stubbornness more than anything else. And it was an extra helping of Gallagher pride that made him do ten additional pull ups after Mickey had conceded the fight. It may have also had something to do with how Mickey had fixed his gaze at where Ian’s shirt had ridden up to reveal a healthy showing of skin. 

And, if Ian concentrated hard enough, he could almost forget that he was leaving.


	7. Bittersweet Freedom

It was the middle of March when Ian stepped passed the barbed wire fences of the juvenile detention center and became a civilian once again. Fiona was there to pick him up. Good ol’ Fiona, who had signed Ian up for summer school classes at his request, who had managed to put some money into Ian’s commissary account, who made sure to call once every week to keep him updated on the family and to visit at least once a month with Debbie and Carl and Liam. He welcomed his big sister’s embrace even as he felt he wasn’t the same boy she had embraced before.

As he let go of Fiona he almost welcomed the hit she gave to the back of his head, even though she had to reach a bit more than she used to due to Ian’s growth spurt, he caught sight of another familiar, if unexpected, face. Leaning up against Kev’s borrowed truck stood Lip Gallagher in all his smartass glory. 

The brothers didn’t say anything to each other, just embraced as if they could fill in the gap of time they’d been away from each other with an extended hug. 

“You okay?” Lip asked, as he slowly released Ian, but not completely. His eyes seemed to find the not quite healed bruises that lingered on his jaw, his side, his arms. 

“Fine,” Ian replied, half-a-grin tugging at his mouth but not quite making it, “I’ll be fine. You?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Lip said, giving him a Gallagher grin. 

It was different with Lip, Ian couldn’t help but think. Lip hadn’t been able to visit due to the restrictions at the group home but he’d tried to call as often as he could, usually with someone’s stolen phone. Still, it was different to see someone in person rather than to hear them over the phone, their voice transformed by a series of wires and electrical pulses. 

“You finish your hours?” Ian couldn’t help but ask. He wouldn’t put it past his brother to have run off in order to pick up his little brother from Juvie.

“As far of the state of Illinois is concerned I have repaid my debt to society,” Lip assured him, but the way he grinned made Ian think that most of those hours weren’t acquired through hard work. Hacking maybe, but not work. 

“So both my boys are coming back home,” Fiona said, putting her arms around her younger brothers as they headed to the car. Her voice got serious as she said, “I don’t want you two doing something this stupid ever again. You hear me?”

“Yes Fiona,” Ian and Lip answered in chorus, which sparked a round of laughter from the siblings. It seemed to break the tension that they hadn’t realized was there.

As the drove off the lot Ian forced himself to not look back. Mickey wouldn’t want him to.

***  
It was strange to be back home, among his clothes and not in a prison uniform, sitting on a bed that was far more comfortable than his industrial mattress, hearing the cheerful chaotic sounds of people coming and going. Lip seemed to fall back into the pattern of Gallagher life far easier than Ian did, relishing the freedom after the group home.

But Ian found all of the change, the sounds and colors that were both louder and softer, to be a bit jarring. He knew he would fall back into the pattern, or at least an imitation of the pattern that existed before, and would carry on as always. But it was strange. As he lay in bed that night he couldn’t seem to fall asleep. He didn’t have Andy’s chatter in his ear, because of course that guy would talk in his sleep. He didn’t have the guards heels clicking on the concrete corridor or the faint light of the end of the hall bulb flickering every now and then.

Eventually he slipped off to sleep but his dreams were strange. They were filled with running, but his shoes were concrete blocks, and he could hear Mickey yelling at him to hurry up. Then it shifted and he was seated around a family dinner table and everyone was there, even Monica and Clayton and Aunt Lucy. Except no one was talking. Instead, the food was talking. Telling everyone how it was prepared and which dish would give which person food poisoning.

Ian woke at 5am disoriented and confused. He crept out of his bed and went downstairs. He walked around the house, touching things that had once been familiar but now seemed strange. Yet he knew nothing had changed except for him. Instead of dwelling on that he began to gather the trash from last night’s welcome home party and clean up. In a way, that made him feel more at home then the drinking and smoking had. 

By the time everyone was up Ian had made breakfast, much to the rest of the Gallaghers delight, and cleaned up most of last nights shenanigans. Fiona kissed the top of Ian’s head in thanks before grabbing a cup of coffee and Debbie hugged him hard around his middle before reaching for the eggs. Carl showed his enthusiasm by almost eating like a human and Lip eyed Ian like he wasn’t sure what to make of this behavior. 

It took until noon before Ian cracked and headed to a payphone to call Mickey. He would have tried sooner but his pride prevented him. He grabbed a handful of change out of a passed out Frank’s pocket and went to the payphone behind the pawn shop. Three rings and a five minute wait later and he heard the familiar voice at the end of the line.

“Who the hell is this?” Mickey asked, and Ian could almost see his defensive posture as he held the payphone.

“You forget about me all ready Mickey?” Ian asked, a grin threatening to split his face. 

“Some ginger shit, right? About this big and too dumb to turn down a fight? Yeah, I know who it is. Why the hell are you calling?” Mickey replied, but his tone was hostile but rather the Milkovich equivalent of happy.

“Missed you is all,” Ian said and he knew he could get away with it because Mickey couldn’t hit him over the phone.

“You know I’m not gonna be stuck in here forever right? I can still kick your ass,” Mickey replied, his tone gruff but not with anger.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ian responded, still grinning.

“Why are you calling? Shouldn’t you be hung over by now?” Mickey asked, genuine curiosity seeping into his tone. 

“Just better at holding my liquor then you,” Ian replied and then said, “It’s weird. You know, being back. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but I’m not sure it was this.”

“So the real world’s a bitch, what else is new,” Mickey said and for some strange reason it did make Ian feel better. “Look, my time is almost up. Just...you’ll be fine. All right. Try not to get any fights that you can’t win until I’m out all right. I’m not there to make sure your head doesn’t get bashed it.”

“‘K,” Ian hummed in agreement, and before Mickey slammed the receiver down he said, “I’ll wait.” 

The dial tone was all that answered him but Ian knew that Mickey had heard him. Even when he pretended he didn’t, he always heard. And he knew that Ian meant it.


	8. Reunited

Returning to school had been sort of a rough transition at first but at least Ian had Mandy in most of his classes to keep him company. He actually did fairly well for missing half of the semester, at least he pulled in some solid C’s. He’d even managed to get his job back at the Kash-n-Grab, although that was more due to blackmailing Kash than any kindness on the store owner’s part. Not like he was fucking Kash anymore. He didn’t want to touch that pile of trouble with a ten yard stick if he could help it.

His growth spurt was still on going and his muscles began to cause some of his shirts to strain at the seams. Mandy said it made him look hot while Lip just complained about having stretched out t-shirts. It was a bit weird not to be getting into any fights, well, not as many fights, as he was used to. And sometimes he’d see some of the kids he was in juvie with and, depending on what had went down, there would be that nod of acknowledgment in the halls or by the bus.

One guy, Carlos, had to weigh close to two hundred pounds and it was nearly all muscle, had come into the Kash-n-Grab the other day. Ian had vaguely remembered him as a looming shadow behind Andy that last couple of days he was in lockdown but he’d never spoken with the guy. He didn’t say much as he payed for his Fritos and pack of smokes but after Ian rang him up he said, “You’re Gallagher, right?”

“Yeah,” Ian acknowledged, inclining his freshly shorn head.

“Andy says hello,” Carlos said, his voice deep and melodious, “Wanted me to tell you that book you left, Catcher in the Barley or some shit, was pretty decent. He wanted me to tell you some other things but you know how Andy is.”

“Always the talker,” Ian remarked and Carlos nodded his head thoughtfully before gathering his purchases and heading out. 

Well, at least Andy was doing all right. And reading. His new cell mate must be a pain in the ass if Andy had ceased his chatter enough to pick up a book. And there seemed to be no hard feelings from when Ian had gotten the drop on Antonio, one of the newer members of Andy’s crew, because that little shit had thought he could punch Mickey where he’d been shot and get away with it. Mickey could have handled it but Ian got their first. While on the streets of the South Side it was strange to see a Gallagher and a Milkovich run together, in Juvie it was a well know fact that if you fucked with Milkovich you fucked with Gallagher and vice versa. 

When Mandy told him Mickey’s release date he’d made sure he wasn’t working that day so he could join her in picking him up. Short conversations over the phone, and one shorter visit, didn’t really do it for either of the boys. Those nights, after those phone calls, Ian would jack off thinking of Mickey’s voice, how it sounded around his cock, his hands, his ass. And every time he finished he wished he had the real thing. Ian hoped Mickey was half as horny as he was.

It was the middle of July, the sun was far too hot and the air seemed to stick to the sidewalks as well as people, and Mandy and Ian waited for the doors to open and Mickey to walk out into the sunshine. When he did, he practically sauntered, and he made sure to get in a few parting fuck you’s to the guards as he left. He embraced Mandy first, the two siblings actually showing a gentle affection for each other. Which was then promptly ruined by Mickey giving Mandy a titty twister and Mandy nearly ripping Mickey’s hair out.

Then Ian and Mickey play fought, taking weak shots at each other, before getting into a hug tackle that only lasted a few moments before Mickey pushed Ian off. All three walked to the L and Mickey couldn’t help but note, “Nice black eye there hot shot.”

“Oh yeah,” Ian said, having nearly forgotten about the fading shiner, “Had to step in on fight night. Kid got in a few good hits but he didn’t last long.”

“Gang-fight Gallagher’s still got it huh,” Mickey half questioned as he lit up a cigarette offered by Ian.

“You know it,” Ian replied with a cocky grin full of happiness. 

“That’s the stupidest nickname,” Mandy couldn’t help but comment, taking Ian’s cigarette from him and taking a drag before returning it.

“You got something better genius?” Mickey shot at his sister, blowing smoke into her face.

“Anything’s better than “Gang-fight.” Ian’s not even in a gang,” Mandy commented, lightly shoving her brother away from her. “Dumbass.”

Ian just laughed at the siblings bickering, occasionally joining in on the long L ride home. They ended up hanging out at the Milkovich house, Ian handing Mickey his ass in Call of Duty but biting asphalt when it came to Assassin's Creed, playing video games until it got dark. Then Mickey was gathering some beers into a bag and gesturing for Ian to follow him into the night.

They ended up wandering around their neighborhood, giving crap to the kids who were out too late and kicking the occasional drunk of out of their way. They laughed at nothing and everything, enjoying the heady taste of freedom. With Mickey, Ian sometimes felt like he could fly and it wouldn’t matter if he crashed. The boys pushed into one another, throwing fake punches as an excuse to touch one another. Mickey grabbed Ian’s head and pushed him down and rubbed his hands through the short red hair before laughing and running down the street. 

They ended up at the old ballpark where they had once played Little League, passing a shitty beer back and forth. Mickey was surprised to learn that Ian was taking summer school classes, that he still had a plan for his fucked up life, that Ian thought he could unfuck it by some miracle. He was more surprised, and maybe even a little dismayed, that Ian thought that Mickey could fix his life too. Could make it something more than the pile of shit he knew it to be. 

He propositioned Gallagher partly to get him to shut up but mostly because he wanted to fuck. They had both been waiting for far too long for this, the feeling of flesh coming together. He allowed himself to be consumed and to consume in their lust and fervent desire for a connection. He even welcomed the burn that accompanied the use of spit as lubricant because it meant that it was real. That he wasn’t having another dream in a cage but was outside, with Gallagher, doing what he’d wanted to do for months. 

When the first round was over Ian did something he didn’t think he would ever have the guts to do in a million years; he kissed Mickey. It was soft and it was sweet, a direct contrast from the brutal fucking that had just occurred. He pulled back and waited, expecting a hit. Instead, he got an indecipherable look as Mickey lit up a cigarette. 

“You want an ass kicking?” Mickey asked, almost gentle.

“Who said anything about that?” Ian replied, his breath still a little uneven.

“Cause you’re acting like you want an ass kicking, and if that’s what you want it I’ll give it to you,” Mickey said around a mouthful of smoke.

“Give it a rest, it was just a kiss,” Ian shot back, a grin on his face. If Mickey hadn’t hit him at this point it meant he wasn’t going to.

“And it’s just my foot up your ass,” Mickey half-muttered, but he was too horny to stay mad for long.

“Could be my dick up your ass,” Ian said with a sly smile as he glanced at Mickey from underneath his lashes.

“Only if you’re ready to go again Firecrotch, wouldn’t want to wear you out seeing as how you’re a Grandpa and all,” Mickey snarked with a laugh but he was already pulling his pants down. Ian quickly followed suit.

And he didn’t try to kiss him again.


	9. Fight Night is Every Night

“Where the fuck’s towel-head?” Mickey asked as he grabbed a blue Gatorade from the back of the store.

“You really don’t want to know,” Ian said, not really looking up from his math book.

Mickey just stood in-front of him and waited. Ian glanced up and then glanced to the back of the store and nodded, just the slightest bit, to the freezer door. Mickey’s grin widened and became one of wicked delight as he left his drink and went to do the same exact thing Kash had done to them: interrupt and humiliate.

Ian kept his head down, but he couldn’t fully repress his smirk, when Mickey threw open the heavy metal door and yelled, “Well lookie what we have here.” And the older boy let out a laugh that let Ian know that, yes, revenge was a dish best served cold. 

It didn’t take more than a minute before Kash and whoever was under that burka to burst out the freezer and stumble to the front of the store, accompanied by Mickey’s mocking laughter. The burka wearing man left in a hurry and Kash had forgotten to zip his pants as he went behind the counter, as if the barrier would be enough to dissuade Mickey. Fat chance.

Mickey practically sauntered back to the front of the store, nodded in acknowledgment at Ian and grabbed his drink. Without paying for it of course. As he moved to leave Ian couldn’t help but ask, “We still on for tonight?”

Mickey just nodded and said, “Later shitheads,” as he flipped the store off as he left. Ian suppressed his giggles and kept his gaze firmly fixed on the book in front of him, ignoring Kash as he sweated nervously behind him. At least something good came about from today, a nice break from the constant wounded looks Kash would send him or the snapping of Linda. And he would be meeting up with Mickey later, something to look forward to. 

*

One of the things Ian liked about Mickey was that he didn’t beat around the bush when he wanted to fuck. He made no bones about wanting to get down and Ian was more than willing to join in on the fun. It was their thing. Sure, the rest of the neighborhood thought they were just getting high together and fucking around, what they didn’t know was that they were fucking. And they didn’t have to know. So what if two delinquent boys wanted to hang out? Wasn’t anything new in this neighborhood. 

Yet it wasn’t just fucking, no matter how much Mickey might have wanted to believe. They were friends now. Except more than that, because Ian didn’t have any other friends who willingly sucked his dick. So maybe the lines had blurred and needed to be erased and redrawn at some point. Not like it was going to happen tonight. Not when Mickey was going to come to Fight Night.

Ian was going up against Jeremy Johnson, who was a few inches shorter than Ian but definitely had more weight on him. He was mean kid with dark lank hair, just shy of seventeen, and there were rumors that he was starting to run with a gang. Frankly, Ian thought it was a load of horseshit. Sure Johnson had some bite to him but he wouldn’t last three days in juvie. You needed more than bluster to survive there. Ian would enjoy kicking his ass.

Mickey always laughed when people thought they could take Ian just because he looked like a puppy still figuring out its paws, when in reality there was a swirling vortex of anger that lived beneath that freckled face. And he’d seen that rage get unleashed on unsuspecting individuals who thought to pick a fight. It also helped that Ian had technical skills to go with it.

“Come on Gallagher, kick his face in,” Mickey yelled, as the rest of the crowd jeered and cheered for who ever they had bet on. 

Johnson had made one glaring mistake; he had underestimated Ian. It was written in his cocky grin, the bravado in his eyes and the far too casual stanch he had adopted. Ian suppressed a grin and made a feint as if to punch the older boy before using one of his karate moves and flipping the heavier boy on his back. And then he did what Mickey had suggested, he kicked the kid’s face in.

There was blood and the guy made some weird whimpering noise as Ian continued to kick Johnson when he was down. He didn’t know it, but Ian had a vicious grin on his face as he laid into the chest and abdomen area, the older boy already sprouting bruises from Ian’s attack. Ian only stopped when the guy really made an effort to try and crawl away. Then he just stood and watched, a small splattering of blood on his face and a vicious gleam in his eye.

The crowd was going wild, cheering at the violence they had witnessed, and money exchanged hands as bets were called in. Lip kept a wary eye on his brother, unused to seeing him so full of apparent rage and a desire to create carnage. He also watched as Mickey approached Ian and pulled the younger boy into a friendly headlock, shouting something about making bank of the Gang-fighter. And just like that, Ian was laughing and playfully shoving back as Mickey like he hadn’t just tried to beat in a guy’s skull with his foot. 

Ian and Mickey skipped out before the last fight, both running off the high of a fight and a win. It wouldn’t be too long before they found so abandoned alley to fuck in, Ian clutching Mickey’s hip in a vice while Mickey tried to hold in his voice. For now though, they were just a couple of punk kids laughing as they ran down the dimly lit streets of the South Side.


	10. Saw You Sleeping

“Found a job yet?” Ian asked as flicked through the channels on the television, a slightly glazed look in his eyes. Mickey and he were lounging on the Gallagher’s couch, drinking, smoking and mocking daytime television.

“Nah man,” Mickey said from his slumped position next to Ian, his fingers gently holding a half-smoked blunt. “Probation bitch is getting on my case. Gonna end up losing a limb at the meat packing plant.”

“Should work with me at the store,” Ian comments, almost absent mindedly as he took the blunt from Mickey.

“Doing what?” Mickey can’t help but ask.

“Working,” Ian snorts and continues, “Kash ran off with some guy named Mohammed and Linda’s on bed rest so she needs the help.”

“You want me to work at the place I got shot at?” Mickey asks, just for clarification.

“I mean, if you don’t want to,” Ian began, like Mickey’s a coward for not wanting to work at a place someone had actually fired a gun at him.

“I didn’t say that,” Mickey brakes in, before saying, “Not cleaning up after people that’s for damn sure.”

Ian just rolls his eyes and takes another hit of the blunt before putting it into Mickey’s mouth. The other boy takes a deep drag and they both sink deeper into their calm high. They’re both tired, having stayed out until 3am last night for no other reason than that they could. Without even meaning to the boys’ eyes became heavier, and heavier, sliding shut to the sounds of Jerry Springer declaring that someone was the father.

When Fiona walked into her house after a long grueling shift at work she was not expecting to see her younger brother Ian curled up like a puppy with a sleeping Mickey Milkovich. The stench of weed hung in the air and there were at least a couple of empty bottles of beer on the coffee table. Fiona turned off the television and just looked at the boys for a moment before deciding to just leave it.

An hour later and the boys were still out cold, Mickey’s head firmly in Ian’s lap while Ian was slumped over Mickey’s back. Every now and then Fiona would look into the living room to make sure she hadn’t just hallucinated such a strange sight. Since when had her little brother been friends with any of the Milkoviches besides Mandy? And since when did Mickey like Ian enough to not stab him in his sleep?

When Lip came into the kitchen a little bit later Fiona snagged him and couldn’t help but demand, “What the hell is up with Ian? Since when does he run with Milkovich?”

Lip shrugged and took a swig of milk from the carton over Fiona’s protests to _grab a glass_ and said, “They became friends in Juvie I guess.” Then he glanced into the living room and nearly choked on the second swig of milk as he saw the jumbled mess of a red headed Gallagher and dark haired Milkovich. 

Fiona just gave him a significant look and stood waiting for an answer to the unasked question. Clearing his throat Lip shrugged and said, “Guess they’re better friends than I thought.”

“I don’t want Ian getting mixed up in whatever shit the Milkoviches are doing. He’s already getting into more fights then he used to,” Fiona began, worry making her appear older.

“Ian’s fine,” Lip explained, “He’s a bit rough around the edges from his incarceration but he’s still a soft cookie underneath, I promise. So he made a few new friends,” and Lip shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal.

“I don’t want my little brother getting knifed,” Fiona has hisses, half whispers.

“Relax,” Lip says, and puts the milk back before heading up the stairs to his own room. Fiona just stares after him, an expression of disbelief on her face. 

Then Carl and Debbie are bursting into the house with a gaggle of kids who are all screaming and yelling and running around. It’s a mixture of sound loud enough to wake the dead so it’s no surprise when Mickey states awake, but seems confused by the extra weight on his body.

“Get off,” Mickey have groans, lighting shoving at Ian. When that yields no result, he pushes harder and says, louder, “Gallagher, get the fuck off of me.”

Ian slowly blinks awake and moves far slower than is wise off of Mickey, stretching as he rejoins the land of the living. Mickey grabs one of the unfinished beers and takes a swig before offering the rest of it to Ian. The younger boy accepted it without a word and downed the rest. They seem to be having an unspoken conversation as kids roam around them and Debbie flips the tv to a nature show about meerkats.

Then the boys are up, freeing the couch up for the daycare rugrats and heading to the kitchen. Ian gives Debbie and Carl a kiss on the tops of their heads before he follows Mickey. They inspect the fridge, and finding nothing they want at the moment, decide to head down to the Alibi for a game of pool. It is, afterall, one of the few free days Ian has in between working and summer school. 

“Hey man,” Mickey asks, nearly hesitant, “you serious about that job thing?”

“Yeah,” Ian says, a grin stretching out on his freckled face, “I’ll talk to Linda about it. You would probably be able to start this week.”

Mickey nods and doesn’t say thank-you, just switches the conversation before they get to the bar. It’s just another day in the South Side, just another day of trying to get by and trying not to think too far ahead into the future. Just another day for two boys who are more than friends. 

And as Ian hits the breaker shot he can’t help but grin at his strange, yet ordinary, life.


	11. Summer Came and Went

The summer passed with Ian managing to get through summer school and even get ahead in English so he was on track for his junior year. He’d managed to badger Mickey into heading back to school to at least try for another semester, although most of that was probably due to his dick sucking skills then anything else. Overall, he’d handled the first couple of months back from Juvie pretty well in his estimation.

He still had a steady job, now more secure than ever due to Kash running off to who knows where. He had a boyfriend, okay a guy who wouldn’t ever admit that in a thousand years but they did all the relationship like things, including fucking. He was even on track with school, all right so he’d needed Lip to help tutor him. That wasn’t new.

Of course there had been some rough patches, there always was. Like Lip practically getting Ian’s dream handed to him on a silver platter while Ian had to work his ass off to barely be average. When the General guy had shown up with a practically filled out West Point application for Lip, _real promising soldier, smart, exactly what we need with the change in warfare,_ Ian had seen red. Lip, who had a record, but because he had brain he could go anywhere, do anything, whereas Ian, who worked hard, would only probably ever end up enlisting. 

For a brief moment he’d wanted to kill his brother. Hell, Mickey had offered to help him if that was the case. Knew a couple of unmarked graves they could use. He refused of course, Lip was still his brother after all, but man, did he hate that fact sometimes. Being brothers with Lip meant never being smart enough and that hurt. A lot. Ian tried to cover it up but Mickey could see it. He thought it was stupid because brains didn’t mean jack shit if you didn’t use them but he’d just sighed at Ian’s sulk. It was good to know that even the Gallagher brothers argued sometimes.

Mickey had just tuned out Ian’s whining and went about cleaning his gun. Just because Ian was all gung-ho for the military and wanted to be the best that he could be for a system that didn’t give a shit about him didn’t mean Mickey had to support such a dumbass decision. But there were some benefit to putting up with Ian’s sulk. For one, he fucked like a man possessed, channeling his anger through his dick. Mickey could live with the _woe is me_ bullshit if Ian kept fucking like that.

Ian’s frustrations also resulted in him working out even more. It was a sight to appreciate to say the least and Mickey made a point to feel those muscles when they were alone at the store. He would rule his tattooed hands over the defined abs, the powerful arms and occasionally he’d pat that firm ass. Gallagher didn’t say anything but it was clear he liked it in the sly smiles he gave to Mickey and the reciprocal touches he handed out.

And Mickey’s got to admit that job thing was pretty great. A steady legal paycheck, kept his probation officer off his back and he got regular fuck breaks with Gallagher. If he could preserve this summer, these precious moments, he would because he has to admit it’d been one of the best times of his life. Which made him want to hit himself when he thought about that because just because he liked dick didn’t mean he had to sound gay. 

Still, it was nice to just be himself around Ian. To drop his guard. Which was why he was going to have to kill Frank for walking in on him and Ian. No one got to saw that shit, especially not a big mouth talker like Frank, and live to tell about it. If Frank told his dad…Oh shit, Ian and he would both be buried in a shallow grave within the day.

“We gotta kill him,” Mickey realized.

“No, we don’t,” Ian said, trying to calm Mickey down, “Frank has a short term memory, he’s probably already forgotten.”

“We can’t chance that,” Mickey stated, not trusting Frank as far as he could throw him. Already thinking of ways to get rid of the body.

“Look,” Ian said, stepping closer to Mickey, “I’ll talk to him.”

“Like that’s going to fucking help,” Mickey snapped, looking at Ian like he was an idiot.

“If he doesn’t keep his mouth shut we’ll take care of it,” Ian placated.

“Two rounds in the back of his skull, no one will miss him,” Mickey planned. Technically it wasn’t true, Debbie and Carl would probably miss Frank but it was still a fairly accurate statement.

“We’re not gonna kill him,” Ian insisted, “We’ll just hit him over the head till he’s in a coma or something.”

“Nah man, it’s too much of a risk,” Mickey protested, but he was calming down slightly. At least Ian and he were on the same page, “We do it quick, we do it clean. No one’s gonna care if he’s gone.”

“Listen to me, if Frank dies,” Ian explained, “and the cops find out about it that means Child Services. Fiona’s not old enough to apply for legal guardianship which means we all get tossed into the system. Again. So no, Frank doesn’t die. All right?”

"It’s not like anyone’s got to find out. Frank goes missing for months, right?” Mickey said, but his tone was softer now.

“Someone always finds out. Fucking always,” Ian said, his eyes a bit darker than before, “Look, I’ll talk to him. We’ll go from there.”

“Fine,” Mickey replied, chewing on his lip, “But if he even so much as hints at anything I’ll take more than a bat to the back of his head.”

Ian nodded, crossing his arms, before heading out the door in search of the man who he’d once called Dad.

***

Ian had found Frank sitting outside of Shelia’s house, drinking whiskey and orange juice and spouting some bullshit. It was clear that Frank didn’t give a shit about Ian or Mickey being gay, but it was clear Ian’s words were just sliding past the drunk’s brain. Ian went to school feeling frustrated and like he wanted to shove his hand through a wall.

He didn’t know how he managed to make it through the day without fighting someone but he did. After school he met up with Mickey who was holding an old wooden baseball bat, not unlike the ones the Gallaghers had at home, and he offered it to Ian with the words, “Either you do it, or I will.”

And Ian took the bat because at least he knew he wouldn’t kill the drunk. But he hated himself, just a little bit, that he gave in so easily. That he was willing to do this because his life, Mickey’s life, and their privacy was worth more than Frank. And he didn’t want to lose Mickey, and he didn’t want to go back to Juvie and he sure as hell didn’t want Mickey going back either. So he took that fucking bat.

When they finally found Frank, drunk, walking down an alley, Ian had made Mickey stand look out. Then he had taken the bat and hit Frank in the back of the head, not hard enough to kill him but enough that he’d be knocked out for awhile. When Frank would wake up three days later he’d swear it was five dudes who attacked him and he’d just barely gotten out alive. Ian just sneered, but it was more at himself than anyone, and Frank seemed to have forgotten everything.

Because when had Frank ever remember anything about his kids.


	12. A Cat Called Milkovich

Ian was sitting on his bed, reading, when Mickey had walked into his room like it was a common occurrence. Sure they were friends, now in the eyes of the neighborhood and not just each other, and they hung out but it was rare for Mickey to come over to the Gallagher house without Ian. And he had never spent the night over despite Ian’s attempts to convince him to stay. 

Linda was back on her feet and was just as formidable with a baby strapped to her back as ever before. Having her back up and running meant that Mickey and Ian could actually have some leeway with which shifts they worked, although it was still most everyday after school and on the weekends. Still, Ian had thought Mickey was supposed to be working tonight.

“Linda let you off early?” Ian asked as Mickey climbed onto the bed and laid down, his head resting on Ian’s thigh. 

“Some guy came around to collect some of Kash’s things. She kinda freaked out and went all Jihad Jane on him. It was awesome and she closed the store early,” Mickey said, his eyes half mast.

Glancing down, Ian couldn’t help but ask, “Are you high?”

“As a fucking kite,” Mickey replied with a grin. Then he said, “Read to me.”

And for a moment it was like they were back in Juvie and Ian was one of Mickey’s only sources of entertainment. Back when they would debate the merits of Ian’s choices of literature. Back when it was just them, two South Side shits, against the rest of the detained population. He didn’t even try to fight the smile that was creeping onto his face. 

“All right,” Ian said and then he began, “Intelligence is one of the greatest human gifts. But all too often a search for knowledge drives out the search for love. This is something else I've discovered for myself very recently. I present it to you as a hypothesis: Intelligence without the ability to give and receive affection leads to mental and moral breakdown, to neurosis, and possibly even psychosis. And I say that the mind absorbed in and involved in itself as a self-centered end, to the exclusion of human relationships, can only lead to violence and pain.”

“So basically if you’re smart but don’t have a heart you’re fucked because you’re a dick,” Mickey interrupted.

“I guess so but,” and Ian thought aloud, “I suppose if you don’t have a heart you wouldn’t really be bothered by the lack of love. Or affection as this guy puts it.”

“You’d still be a dick though,” Mickey commented, completely unconcerned with life. And Ian couldn’t resist gently running his hand through Mickey’s dark hair. 

“To be fair, most people are dicks,” Ian said with a small laugh, even though that thought wasn’t all that funny. But it was one of those realizations you had to laugh at or drive yourself into a state of unhealthy distraction. 

“Mmm,” Mickey hummed in agreement, shifting his head further into Ian’s hand. The red headed boy’s smile grew larger but he didn’t say anything more. 

Mickey seemed to doze off, his eyes sliding shut, content to let Ian pet his dark hair. Ian kept one hand on Mickey and used the other hand to hold _Flowers for Algernon_ as he continued to read. Silently this time. 

When Carl walked into his room he did not expect Mickey Milkovich, the resident badass of the neighborhood, to be lounging like a cat on his brother bed using Ian as a pillow. 

“What’s Mickey doing here?” Carl asked, the throbbing cut on his hand forgotten for the moment.

“Sleeping,” came the answer. But it wasn’t from Ian, it was from a closed eyed Mickey.

Carl just shrugged, he’d seen weirder things in his young life, and he went to change his blood soaked shirt. Ian shot him a questioning look but since Carl’s wound had already been treated there wasn’t much to be done. It was his fault after all, for running with pruning shears. 

Chaotic life in the Gallagher household continued and Mickey dozed on, his head firmly in Ian’s lap. And Ian sat with a grin that threatened to overtake his entire face as he continued to steadily pet Mickey's short black hair.


	13. Daddy Dearest

“So your grandma died and that means your mom’s back?” Mickey asked as he and Ian re-shelved soup cans, “That’s messed up.”

“Yup,” Ian replied, “Another day in the calm and collected Gallagher household.”

Mickey snorted and rolled his eyes. “So how long’s she staying?”

“Who knows?” Ian said with a shrug, “Could be a few days, could be months. You never can tell with Monica. But I’m sure she’ll find someway to piss on us before she leaves.”

It was Mickey turn to shrug before saying, “Want to sneak into a Bear’s game this weekend?”

Before Ian could reply the front door of the store opened. Ian bent down to pick up a few more cans as Mickey told the person that they were closed.

“Is Ian Gallagher here?” a familiar voice asked.

“Who wants to know?” Mickey asked, defensive, his stance shifting slightly as he took in this stranger with a familiar face.

Ian quickly shoved the cans on the shelves, took a deep breath and stood up. “Uncle Clayton,” he said, hoping his voice was firm.

“Ian,” Clayton said, moving as if to hug him but stopping at the last moment as he realized Ian wasn’t going to respond to the physical affection, “How are you?”

“Fine,” Ian said, his eyes firmly trained on his fellow red head.

“And your family?” Clayton asked, obviously trying to be polite.

“What is this? Twenty questions?” Mickey asked as he looked back and forth between the two tall and freckled individuals. 

“Why are you here?” Ian asked, crossing his arms like Mickey.

“Well, um, you see it’s a bit hard to explain,” Clayton began.

“Try me,” Ian broke in.

“Well you see, your Aunt Lucy and I had a fight. We’re fine now but Jacob, our son, overheard us and well, your name came up,” Clayton seemed to take a breath to steady himself before saying, “Long story short, he wants to meet you.”

“Seriously man, who the fuck are you?” Mickey asked, now standing side by side with Ian.

“I’m his---well you see, I’m his---I’m--”

“He’s my biological father,” Ian interrupted, his voice carefully level and his eyes blank.

Mickey just raised an eyebrow as he took in the similarities between the two men. 

“How did you even find me?” Ian couldn’t help but ask. It’s not like he had left a forwarding address after their brief introduction.

“Phillip mentioned you were staying at Aunt Ginger’s and when I stopped by the house he said you were working here,” Clayton supplied.

Ian’s eyes lit with a murderous rage. He was going to kill Lip, that was all there was to it.

“So,” Clayton said into the heavy silence, “would you be willing to meet Jacob?”

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Ian couldn’t help but question with a slight sneer, “I just had my first stint in Juvie not too long ago. Might be a bad influence on your North Side son.” 

Clayton swallowed but gave a weak grin, “I heard about that. I’m sorry, but I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to meet you.”

“What if I don’t want to meet him?” Ian asked.

And Mickey couldn’t help but roll his eyes because Ian loved his siblings and he’d probably love this new North Side sibling as well if he laid eyes on him. So Ian was trying to fool everyone into thinking he was some tough punk, but it didn’t fool Mickey. Apparently it was fooling Clayton.

Clayton swallowed. “Then we’ll leave, but I can’t guarantee he’ll stay away. Gallagher trait and all.” And he gave a small smile as he continued to gaze at his unknown son.

There was a silence that seemed to hang in that corner store as Ian weighed his options. Mickey shifted where he stood, agitated at everything, more so at how tense and shut off Ian looked. He hadn’t seen the kid this closed off before, not even in Juvie.

“Hey Ian, how much child support do you think this guy owes you?” Mickey asked, bringing the reality of the situation back into focus.

“Oh well into the upper thousands,” Ian replied, falsely casual, but his stance said he wouldn’t take the money. Ian wouldn’t be bought.

“So this guy who owes you money comes and asks for a favor? Seems like a rip off to me,” Mickey noted, shifting so he was slighting in front of Ian. “I think you’d better leave.”

Clayton glanced back and forth between Ian and Mickey but when Ian made no move to contradict Mickey’s words he gave a nervous little nod. Then he dug into his pocket and brought out a business card, he put it on the counter saying, “If you do ever want to meet up, here’s my number.” And then he left, but not before taking a shaky breath and glancing back at Ian.

As soon as the door closed Mickey went over and locked it. When he turned back around Ian was still tense but it was obvious his walls were beginning to tremble, threatening to collapse and bury the young teenager in their rubble. Instead of saying anything he just led Ian into the back.

Mickey was grateful that Ian hadn’t grown any more or else what he was about to do might be considered awkward. He put his tattooed hand on Ian’s neck, drawing the boy’s attention to him, and kissed him. It wasn’t soft but it was short, and it was enough of an invitation that Ian clutched at Mickey in a hard embrace, burying his head into the older boy’s shoulder. 

And Mickey allowed it. Because Ian was the type of kid who needed a hug in private to be strong in public. And the less people who knew how soft Ian was the better. Kid could only get hurt so many times before he gave in or gave up, and Mickey didn’t want to see either of those happen. So he let himself be soft, if just for a moment, for a red headed punk who refused to cry even when he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always thought it was strange that we didn't see more of Clayton considering he knows, almost for certain, that Ian is his kid. And if his other son, Jacob had ever gotten wind that he might have a brother, I know he would be curious. So this is my response to the unexplored story line.


	14. Fun House Mirror

Ian ends up calling. It had taken him about a week before he broke down and called, but he did it when he knew no one would be there so he could leave a message. He let Jacob know that he would be willing to see him, and only him, but he’d have to come to the South Side if he wanted to talk. The message had been short and tense but Ian felt better after leaving it.

At least that’s what he told Mickey as they shot cans off the side of the abandoned building they had found. Mickey had just rolled his eyes, he knew the kid was soft, but he didn’t comment on it. Just because Ian wanted to talk about his feelings didn’t mean Mickey had to.

That message led to a young lanky red head in a school uniform entering the store on a Wednesday afternoon. Mickey took one look at the kid, who looked completely out of his element, and yelled, “Gallagher, get out here.” 

“What is it?” Ian yelled from the freezer, as he attempted to finish taking inventory. 

“Just come out here,” Mickey shouted back, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“Fine,” Ian called out as he left the freezer, “What?” he said looking at the newly shaved man in front of him.

Mickey just flicked his gaze the kid, who had been quiet up until now. Seeing both of the red heads next to each other it would be impossible to think of them as anything but brothers. Ian was taller but the younger kid had the same face, if slightly narrower, the same freckles and the same red hair. He also had that same open look as he stared up at Ian.

“I’m Jacob,” the boy said, his voice a soft tenor, “You must be Ian.”

“Yeah,” Ian breathed out and looked at Mickey.

“What the hell are you looking at me for? It’s your fucked up family,” Mickey said.

“Well this is more a-awkward than I thought it would be,” Jacob commented, shifting his backpack on his shoulder.

“Your parents know you’re here kid?” Ian asked, not unkindly.

“Not really. I said I was going over to a f-friends house after school,” Jacob said, his words were slightly forced, like he was trying not to rush to say them and failing. He shrugged his shoulders, his gaze still fixed on Ian. It was almost as if he was trying to pick him apart layer by layer until he found the meaning of this strange creature called brother. 

“Why don’t we go into the back and talk. Mick, man the store?” Ian half asked.

“Just go,” Mickey said, waving the two red heads to the back. 

As they entered the back room Jacob couldn’t help but ask, “Who was that?”

“Who? Mickey? He’s a friend,” Ian said with a shrug, closing the door behind them. He sat down on an empty milk crate and gestured for Jacob to do the same. 

“So,” Jacob said, sliding his backpack down as he took a seat across from Ian.

“So,” Ian said back, his leg bouncing up and down restlessly. 

“I’m not sure what I’m s-supposed to say,” Jacob said, as he shifted in his seat, “I mean, I only f-found out that I had a brother a few weeks ago. I’m not sure what I’m s-supposed to do, what this is s-supposed to change.”

Ian breathed out through his nose and said, “Do you want it to change anything?”

There was a silence as Jacob genuinely thought about his answer and then he looked into Ian’s eyes and said, “Yes. I don’t see how things can stay the same now that I--that we--know. You’re my brother, I’m not just going to p-pretend you don’t exist.”

Ian smiled and reached over to ruffle Jacob’s hair. “All right,” Ian said, gently, “all right.”

“Cut it out,” Jacob said with a laugh, the words falling out, pulling away from Ian. 

Ian let his hand drop but not his smile. Jacob smiled back, relaxing a bit as he looked up at his big brother. He was about to ask if they should play 20 questions or something to get to know one another when an irate woman in a headscarf burst into the backroom.

“Ian,” she snapped and then, catching sight of Jacob, said, “Who the hell is this?”

“This is my brother. Jacob,” Ian said as he got to his feet, Jacob following his lead.

“It’s nice to m-meet you ma’am,” Jacob said with a slight stutter as Linda turned to assess him.

“Well, he’s polite at least. But I don’t pay you to sit around and talk, get back out there,” she said gesturing to the front of the store. Ian nodded and walked out, gesturing Jacob to follow him.

Once they were standing in front of the check-out counter Ian said, “You should probably get home, it’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” Jacob said with reluctance and he seemed to sway on his feet with nerves.

“I’ll see you around sometime,” Ian said, offering a peace branch.

Jacob just nodded and then seemed to make up his mind as he flung himself at Ian. He clung to Ian in a fierce embrace and Ian was taken aback at first but he returned the hug. The shorter boy tried not to snuffle but he couldn’t help it. 

“Hey,” Ian said, gently, like he would with Carl or Debbie, and rubbed the shaking boy’s back, “don’t cry, don’t cry.”

“I thought,” the boy tries to say, take a breath and tries again, “I th-thought I was alone. Or that you wouldn’t w-want me. But that’s not t-true.” 

And Ian just shushed the boy and held him tighter, and he couldn’t help but wonder why his brother stumbled over his words. He sent the boy off a few minutes later with a kiss on the top of his head and a friendly wave. Somewhere deep inside of himself he could feel his heart shifting and already making room for the brave, and yet scared, little boy.

“You done singing Kumbaya and shit?” Mickey asked, but his words lacked a certain harshness. 

“Fuck off,” Ian said, running his hand through his hair. He tapped his foot and then said, “He seemed like a good kid.”

And Mickey just shook his head knowing he was going to have to deal with Gallagher’s new brother at some point or another. “Well he’s not setting cats on fire and he’s not Lip so I guess he’s an improvement.”

“A bit weird though,” Ian couldn’t help but muse.

“He’s a Gallagher,” Mickey pointed out, like it was given. And in a way, it sort of was. 

“Yeah,” Ian said with half a grin, “he is.”


	15. The Unlocked Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a quote from Slaughterhouse Five in here.

“So, little Gallagher,” Mickey asked as he lounged on Ian’s bed, flipping through one of his not-boyfriend’s army recruitment brochures, “why do you talk so weird?”

Jacob looked up from his math homework he was doing at Ian’s desk. Ian was downstairs dealing with whatever crisis was currently on going in the household. “I d-don’t talk w-weird,” he said. “I just h-have a s-slight p-p-problem getting the w-words out sometimes.”

“Yeah, and guys with limp dick just have a slight problem getting it up,” Mickey commented, “So what jacked you up so bad?”

“I w-was t-t-teased a lot as a c-child,” Jacob got out, his face flushing horribly. Normally his stutter didn’t matter that much to him, and around Ian it seemed to disappear, but he always found himself rushing his words around Mickey. As if he could say the words faster than maybe Mickey wouldn’t punch him. Not that he ever did, but the threat of violence always seemed to hang around the older boy. 

Before Mickey could say anything else Ian entered into the room, his anger apparent as he tugged off his shirt and put on a new one. “Monica’s gone,” he said in response to the unasked question. “Ran off with another woman.”

“I’m s-s-sorry Ian,” Jacob said, unsure of what he was supposed to say in these circumstances, but an apology seemed like a good place to start. 

Ian just gave Jacob a small smile and buried his anger underneath his skin, into muscles and through his bones and joints. But he smiled because his little brother would never have to deal with the revolving door of parents or the strange hollowness that seemed to linger in the heart every time they came and went. And he smiled to bite back the words of anger that did not belong to either of the people in his room.

Ian finally saw what Mickey was looking at and raised an eyebrow asking, “You thinking of joining up?”

“And be a stupid fuckwit like you? Nah,” Mickey said, settling down more firmly on Ian’s propped up pillow, “Just trying to see what’s got you so eager to be shot.” 

“Find anything? Aside from the steady pay, benefits, sign up bonus and protecting our country,” Ian said, knocking Mickey’s feet off of his bed.

“Well, maybe this,” Mickey said with a smirk, pointing to a rather buff and handsome All-American solider boy that was wearing a very tight shirt as he worked out.

Ian debated rolling his eyes and just settled for tackling Mickey. It didn’t take long for a full blown wrestling match to break out, and from there it was only a matter of time before the dirty tactics started. Like Mickey finding Ian’s ticklish spot, causing Ian to convulse in laughter and curl up in a ball as he tried to avoid peeing his pants.

“Stop, stop, stop,” he begged through the laughter as he tried, and failed, to fend off Mickey’s tickle attack. Jacob’s high pitched laughter floated over Mickey’s deep seated one as the older boy sat on Ian’s hips, effectively pinning him down. 

“I’m gonna piss my pants,” Ian managed to gasp out, tears in his eyes from laughing so hard.

“Say I’m the best,” Mickey said as he continued his relentless attack.

“You’re the best,” Ian gasped out as he tried, and failed, to wiggle away. “You’re the best. Please let me up.”

Mickey gave one last tickle before halting his efforts, but he refused to move from his position of sitting on Ian. Both the boys had some residual laughter and neither made a move to disrupt their current position on the floor.

The peaceful moment filled with what might have been the beginning of something was interrupted by Fiona’s voice yelling up the stairs, “Jake, your dad’s here.”

Ian easily dislodged Mickey as Jacob gathered his things and said, “I’ll walk you down.”

Mickey flopped back onto Ian’s bed, tossing the broucher down on the floor as Ian said good-bye to Jacob downstairs. He thought it was a bit strange how Jacob always seemed to pop up at odd moments now. Like he was waiting for moments when his parents weren’t watching so he could run away to the bad side of town where the “bad” big brother lived. The kid followed Ian around like a puppy, always wanting to be close, like if he looked away for too long Ian might disappear. And if Ian disappeared Mickey had a feeling Jacob might as well.

When Ian came back up he noted, “Jacob said you asked about his stutter.”

“He talks weird man, gotta be a reason,” Mickey replied, as he sat back up in the bed.

Ian began to search for his smokes on his desk while saying, “The reason is that he was bullied. His classmates once locked him in a closet and it took until the janitors showed up for the night shift to find him. So he has trouble talking. There’s worse things,” Ian said, lighting up his smoke.

“Are you seriously pissed because I asked a question?” Mickey couldn't help but ask in mild disbelief.

“Look, Jake’s gets enough shit as it is. Just,” and Ian paused to exhale, “just let him pretend he’s normal when he’s here.”

“He’s never going to be normal,” Mickey said, taking one of Ian’s books off the windowsill and idly flipped through its pages. “He might as well get used it.”

“Just let him try,” Ian exclaimed, some of his repressed anger surfacing for a moment, “Jesus, Mickey, let him try to be a kid for once.”

Mickey looked up from the book he wasn’t reading and said, “Feel better now?”

Ian exhaled a large mouthful of smoke and said, calmly now, “No, but who gives a shit, right?”

Mickey just looked at Ian for a moment before throwing the book at Ian’s head. It was such a surprise that Ian wasn’t able to duck in time and Ian got hit on his shoulder. “What the hell Mick?” he practically yelled.

“Read to me,” Mickey said, slumping into a comfortable position. Just because Ian felt the need to try to fix everything in his impossibly fucked family didn’t mean he should. Sometimes it was okay for Ian to just be Ian, without all the bullshit baggage, and Mickey needed to remind him of that.

“Go on,” Mickey said, as Ian just looked at him in disbelief, smoldering cigarette in one hand, an unopened book in the other. “Read to me.” And Mickey knew he would.

Ian slowly flipped the book open to a random page and began to read, “Trout's leading robot looked like a human being, and could talk and dance and so on, and go out with girls. And nobody held it against him that he dropped jellied gasoline on people. But they found his halitosis unforgivable. But then he cleared that up, and he was welcomed to the human race.”

“That’s fucked up,” Mickey observed, his eyes firmly trained on Ian.

“The bad breath or the robot?” Ian asked, still feeling a little snarky.

“Humans,” was Mickey’s response. “Bunch of fucked up people.”

Ian nodded thoughtfully before saying, “But that’s how it is. It’s like in Juvie how Andy had that friend, Roberto I think, who kept wetting the bed. No one wanted to hang with him. So he stopped wetting the bed and all of a sudden he’s was cool to hang with. No one cared that he’d almost beaten his brother to death.”

“Maybe,” Mickey said, “Doesn’t make it right.” But the way he said it showed that Mickey knew things wouldn’t change. At least not from where they were sitting. And even though it should bother him, it didn’t. It was just the way things were and he was just making an observation. People could be awful to one another, and everyone in this neighborhood knew that better than most. 

Ian just shrugged and tossed the book on the bed before getting up and pushing Mickey to the side as he laid down next to him, his cigarette long done. They didn’t say anything to one another and both liked it like that sometimes. They talked when they could, filling in the gaps of conversation that no one at home seemed to have time for, but they also had silences too. Silences that didn’t need to be filled except with the other person’s breath and presence. It was as simple as being there.

“Hey Mickey,” Ian said, quiet, as if they were about to fall asleep instead of just resting for a moment, “I don’t want to be stuck here.” And for some reason saying those words, saying them aloud in his room, to someone who was listening, made them that much more real.

“No one does,” Mickey replied, his voice quiet and the edges softened by comfort. 

“I’m going to get out,” and Ian said it more for himself than anything else. He had to remind himself sometimes. 

“Ok,” Mickey said, his eyes now closed, “You do that. Maybe then you’ll have a room with an actual lock.”

Ian wanted to roll his eyes but he couldn’t because he was smiling instead. Mickey would never say it, not plain out loud, but he wasn’t going anywhere. He was sticking with Ian even if he crashed and burned. Otherwise he would have hit Ian by now or simply left. Instead, he stuck around even if it meant hanging around his chaotic family, not that a Milkovich had much room to judge on that score.

Still, it was nice to be listened to, even in the silence.


	16. The Back Room

_Fuck_ , Mickey’s mouth was good. Normally he didn’t give hummers but when he did it was like Christmas and Easter all at once. Ian tried to focus on anything other than the insistent suck of Mickey’s mouth around his cock so that he could make this last. He tried to look at the various carts of drinks and the cold bite of the freezer’s chilled air, but he couldn’t quite stop himself from clutching Mickey’s dark hair and feeling the movement of the older boy’s jaw.

He tried to take a deep breath but then Mickey was deep throating him and Ian couldn’t hold out any longer; he came like the second coming of Christ. Mickey didn’t back down for a second, swallowing down Ian’s orgasm. He pulled his mouth off of his boyfriends cock to see the panting, flushed red head looking at him like he’d just cured cancer and given everyone a magic puppy.

Mickey gave Ian a self-satisfied smirk that only grew when Ian fumbled to push himself back into his pants. He wiped the corners of his mouth with his thumb and focused on the way Ian was looking at him. It was a look of wonder and acceptance and want, and Mickey wasn’t used to feeling so appreciated. But just because he wasn’t used to it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to accept it.

“Fuck,” Ian finally managed to breath out, his voice still a bit shaky.

Mickey just grinned and couldn’t help but tease as he asked, “Don’t you have school?”

Ian didn’t even bother to justify that with a response but instead reached out and grabbed Mickey by the shirt and pulled him closer. He could feel the thin threads of the worn shirt that covered a chest that Ian had admired on more than one occasion. He wanted to kiss this brash boy but he knew that wasn’t in the cards so he’d settle for being close to the older boy.

But of course Mickey had to surprise him by dragging Ian down into a playful kiss. Except Ian didn’t want it to end so when Mickey began to pull back Ian followed. He didn’t care that he was being snowballed, Mickey had voluntarily kissed him, all things were fair game now. He slid his hand back into Mickey’s hair and pulled him close.

Mickey didn’t fight it like Ian thought he would. Instead he bit Ian’s lip, almost hard enough to draw blood, but then he swiped his tongue into Ian’s mouth. Ian gave in and tried to consume and be consumed in turn. He lost time and he hoped never to find it again as long as he could stay exactly as he was.

But then there was a loud rattling on the front door and the boys sprung apart. Ian gave a small shaky laugh but Mickey just ran his hands through his hair, like Ian had just made some bad joke with a pun rather then shoved his tongue in Mickey’s mouth. 

“Guess I better go,” Ian finally said after a minute or so of silence. He grabbed his backpack as Mickey nodded, not really looking at Ian anymore.

He stared a few more moments at the dark haired man child and tried to think of what he was supposed to be doing. Should he be staying? Going? Living in some type of limbo like he was now? Instead of answering those questions he moved to head out of the back room freezer and actually attempt to make it to school on time. 

Before he hit the door though, Mickey grabbed his arm and then pulled the red head down for a quick yet forceful kiss. A reminder that Mickey wasn’t some prick to be trifled with. It was rough and brief and it made Ian crave as Mickey always made Ian crave.

“Fuck off,” Mickey said as he pulled away and lightly shoved Ian away.

And Ian just grinned as if he’d won the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not abandoned nor forgotten this story my lovely readers. Life has just been a bit busy.


	17. The Judge's Chamber

“What’s with the suit Shawshank Redemption?” Mickey asked as he saw Ian walking down the street, looking sharp in a borrowed suit that somehow managed to fit.

Ian gave him a nervous grin and said, “Got my hearing today.”

Mickey snorted and couldn’t help but remark, “So you’re telling the judge what a good little boy you’ve been.”

“Shut up,” Ian shot back more as a reflex than an actual response, and rolled his eyes. But he’d stopped walking and seemed to be waiting for something.

Mickey rolled his eyes but fell into step with Ian. “So when’s your actual hearing?”

Ian swallowed and tried to act nonchalant as he said, “Three. But with all the bomb threats and attempted stabbings who really knows.”

“Like you’d get that lucky,” Mickey shot back.

It was only when they were both on the L heading for the courthouse that Mickey asked, “So what is this even for? Cause I know it’s more than just some probation crap.”

Ian took a shaking breath and said, “Had a deal with judge. If I did my time in Juvie and managed to stay out of trouble for a year afterward they’d wipe my record. No hint of time served or a charge of accessory to grand theft auto. Clean slate for the military.”

“Well fuck Gallagher,” Mickey could help but state, one of his eyebrows raised to show how impressed he was. He genuinely was impressed at the shit the former goody two-shoes Gallagher was able to pull of. 

“But I don’t know if the extra time in Juvie is going to count against me,” Ian swallowed and then looked a Mickey with a small smile and said, “Guess we’ll find out.”

“Well if all you want is to get shot at I know a couple of guys who would do that,” Mickey said with a good natured smirk.

“Oh really?” Ian couldn’t help but snark back, “How generous of them.”

“Yeah, real upstanding guys,” Mickey said with a smile, “Might even help you out myself.”

“You are just such a bleeding heart,” Ian replied, “Really, I’m touched.”

“Damn right you are,” Mickey grunted with a grin.

The banter did seem to take the edge off of Ian. That was, until they were sitting outside the judge’s chamber waiting to be called in. Frank was technically supposed to be here since he was the legal guardian but since it wasn’t an official sentencing or consent issue the county would let it slide.

“Ian Gallagher,” a woman in a formal suit called from outside the judge’s door. Ian stood to indicate that it was him, “Judge Ketcher will see you now.”

“Excuse me miss,” Ian began, turning on the good boy act, “would it be alright if my friend came in with me?”

The woman looked over at the dark haired young man, and her sharp gaze took in the lingering bruises and knuckle tattoos and she was clearly unimpressed. She looked at Ian and then back to Mickey. Against her better judgement, she nodded in agreement. 

Ian gave her the largest grin he could and when he turned that smile on Mickey the older boy couldn’t even find it within himself to deny his association with the red headed prick. Didn’t stop him from rolling his eyes as he followed the red head into the judge’s office.

Mickey was on high alert as soon as they entered the room. It had all the legal texts arranged on various bookcases with pictures of family and global trips interspersed throughout. The judge was a small woman who was dwarfed by her office chair and she barely looked up from the documents she was signing when Ian took a seat across from her. Mickey refused to sit, keeping his presence known but subtle in the background. Well, subtle for Mickey.

“Mr. Gallagher,” Judge Ketcher said, finally looking up from her paperwork and gave a small professional smile, “Well you’ve certainly grown since I last saw you.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Ian replied and Mickey bit his tongue and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Gallagher could charm the diapers off babies if he really wanted to. Something about him made people think the redhead was all innocence and good intentions. As if. Mickey had seen Ian bash a guy’s head into a brick wall hard enough to cause mild brain damage. Guy was asking for it of course. But still, the point was that everyone thought Gallagher shit butterflies when in reality he’d probably be the one to hunt Bambi’s mother down. 

“You’ve been staying out of trouble?” Judge Ketcher asked, already knowing the official answer. After all, she had Ian’s folder open on her desk.

“Yes ma’am,” Ian said again with a smile. 

“Got into a few fights in Juvie I see,” she said, taking another look at the folder, “Earned you more time than your original sentence.”

“Ma’am, with all due respect, you remember what I looked like when I went in,” Ian saw the nod of acknowledgment and pushed forward with his explanation, “Guys tried to make an example of me. It didn’t work out for them.”

“Mr. Gallagher, I am well aware of the abuses within our correctional care system,” Judge Ketcher remarked, “And I am hoping that those fights were merely a by product of the institution and the environment you found yourself in. However, I want to make myself perfectly clear. Juvie is not the real world, and as much as you might like to use your fists, violence cannot solve your problems.”

Ian replied with a dutiful “yes ma’am” while Mickey turned to glare at the judge. What the hell did she know anyway? Gallagher had been fighting for his life, the right to be treated like the rest of the scum and not like the shit the scum grew on, when he’d been in those fights. Fuckers deserved every punch and hit Ian could land in Mickey’s opinion. 

“Well as it appears you’ve had no further run ins with the law. Mr. Gallagher, I am pleased to present you with a spotless record. Your one time run in with the law will not hinder your desire to join our armed services.” Gallagher’s face lit up like the fourth of July and Mickey was tempted to smile at the relief on Ian’s face.

Before Ian could get out a thank-you Judge Ketcher explained, “This clean slate does come with conditions. If you are arrested again and found guilty of a crime all previous charges will be reinstated and visible on your record. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly,” Ian said, his hands clenched together and Mickey could tell how much strain pulling the ultimate good boy act was putting on him. Ian might have been able to pull off that act with more ease before Juvie but now it was like wearing a shirt that was just too small. It constricted movement and made it hard to breath.

“Then Mr. Gallagher,” Judge Ketcher said with a more genuine smile, “You are free to go. And I hope you won’t take this the wrong way when I say I hope to never see you again.”

“Feeling’s mutual your Honor,” Ian said with an easier grin as he got up and left the room with an eager Mickey. Both of them wanted to get the hell out of this place before one of them got not-so-accidentally arrested. 

“Fuck,” Ian breathed with relief as they got out of the building. 

“Yeah,” Mickey couldn’t help but agree with a grin. And then he gave Ian a friendly jab in the side before taking off in a run while laughing. Ian gave a half yelp/half laugh and was off, chasing Mickey to the L.

Once on the platform they stopped to catch their breath, still occasionally laughing. Ian undid his tie and took off his suit jacket, not caring that he had sweated through his white button down. Mickey would never tell Ian but he looked like some office boy fantasy pin up in that moment.

Their private moment of joy was interrupted by Mickey’s phone ringing. Mickey would have normally ignored it but it was Mandy so he reluctantly picked up.

“What?” he couldn’t help but snap.

“Hello to you too ass face,” Mandy’s affronted voice came out, but it was a tried and true affronted. A familiar pattern of behavior both of the Milkovich siblings could recognize. “Is Ian with you?”

“Why?” Mickey asked, raising his eyebrow at Ian who just gave him a confused school boy look.

“Lip’s in trouble jerkwad, now give the phone to Ian,” Mandy demanded.

Mickey rolled his eyes but handed the phone over to the red head.

“Hey Mandy,” Ian said before pausing and listening. Mickey knew that whatever happened was going to be stupid, annoying, and inconvenient as fuck. Ian’s eyes widened as he  
finally managed to ask with shock and dismay, “Lip stole what?”

And Mickey was right.

The train arriving at that exact moment was just justice for whatever shit that was about to go down.  
***

“A laser? Really, a fucking laser?” Mickey couldn’t help but snark as Lip appeared from holding. 

“No one asked you Mickey,” Lip replied, mildly defensive. “Hey, how’d the hearing go?” Lip asked Ian, his voice softer and lower as he turned his attention towards his brother.

“Good,” Ian gave a crooked grin and said, “Clean record.”

Lip gave a triumphant grin and reached up to ruffled the peach fuzz on Ian’s head. Ian laughed and pushed his brother away, falling to step with Mandy, leaving Mickey and Lip to walk next to each other.

“You better show up to the hearing or else my dad will go after you with a bucket full of battery acid,” Mandy told Lip and there were no doubts in any of those teenangers minds that that was 100% the truth. 

“You actually manage to get the laser?” Mickey asked, identifying the major legal and financial issue. If that fancy laser was returned it would most likely be a no-harm no-foul but if the laser was kept then shit was going to go down.

“What do you take me for?” Lip asked in that conveniently condescending way of his, “Of course I got the laser.” 

Mickey rolled his eyes but he couldn’t help but wonder at the Gallagher luck. It seemed to come and go at the oddest of times and it never seemed to work in the same way twice. And sometimes it just seemed to shit all over that family. But damn, when it worked, it worked.


	18. Summer Times

Ian was in a fairly good mood as he headed downstairs for breakfast. His hair was growing out now, still short enough for military regulation but long enough to have bed head and he wore a stained wife beater and a pair of threadbare boxer shorts that didn’t belong to him. The sun was up, he had a steady job he was going to today and he had a dark haired boy sleeping in his bed. Not bad for a Wednesday in June.

He had just finished brewing a pot of coffee while Debbie ran around getting things ready for daycare while ordering Carl around when he heard Fiona yell “Ian.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and made a mental note to get more milk after glancing in the fridge. 

He resisted the urge to groan as he heard Fiona yell his name again and instead took a sip of his morning coffee before turning his attention to making cinnamon toast. Fiona stumbled down the stairs, her expression a mixture of concern, anger and annoyance. “Why is Mickey Milkovich sleeping in your bed?” she asked as she began to angrily sort through a load of laundry.

Ian shrugged and simply said, “He slept over.”

“He slept over in your bed?” she asked in disbelief, “Are there any stab wounds I should know about?”

“No. Jesus, Fiona,” Ian could help but exclaim. Mickey had slept over, it wasn’t like it was the second coming of Christ or anything.

“Then explain it to me. How has this house suddenly become Milkovich central? Mandy with Lip I can understand, but Mickey? Did you sleep on the floor? Drug him?”

“Fuck, no,” Ian got out before he tried to explain, “He’s my friend. Why are you making such a big deal out of this? Mandy stays over all the time.”

Fiona looked like she wanted to say something more but the unmistakable signs of the rest of the occupants of the house waking and moving about were heard. “This is not over,” the oldest Gallagher siblings stated, pointing her finger at Ian. 

Ian just gave her a look before taking another sip of his coffee. Mickey wandered down the stairs, he wore a pair of boxers that were actually Ian’s lucky pair, and his hair was a mess. Ian couldn’t help but smile when he saw the grumpy morning expression on the older boy’s face. Instead of saying anything in response to the dopey smile of the red headed giant, Mickey just snagged the younger boy’s coffee right out of his hands.

He took a long drink of the dark sludge under Ian’s knowing stare before returning the mug. For some reason that just made the ginger shit’s grin get even wider. Mickey rolled his eyes but he couldn’t find it within himself to tell him to fuck off.

“Morning,” Ian finally said. Mickey grunted in response reaching past Ian for a piece of toast. The taller boy allowed himself to enjoy the press of Mickey’s body pushed up against his as he grabbed a slice of sugary bread. 

Mickey ended up leaning against Ian as he ate his slice of toast, occasionally stealing sips of Ian’s coffee, and slowly began to fully awaken. Mandy and Lip stumbled down the stairs. Lip went for the pot of coffee while Mandy went to inspect the laundry. She was, naturally, not wearing pants.

Before Fiona could make a comment Mickey jumped in with, “Put on some fucking clothes. No one wants to see that shit.”

“Eat shit and die jerkface,” Mandy responded, glaring at her brother as she sat down and stole a piece of Lip’s toast.

Lip rolled his eyes and Ian just gave a small chuckle into his coffee. Debbie was commanding Carl to grab some mats or something as she came into the kitchen, her clipboard in hand. “Oh hello Mickey,” Debbie said, when she noticed the dark haired male in her kitchen. The young Gallagher seemed to have gotten the entire family’s share of manners as she went on to ask, “How are you this morning?”

Mickey shot Ian a look before turning to the young girl and saying, “Fine.”

Debbie nodded and went to get herself a cup of coffee. Fiona came back from her conference on the front porch with whoever was out there and hollered, “All right, listen up Gallaghers and Milkoviches,” she seemed slightly pained as she said that last name, “the city’s digging up the sewer line so they’re turning off the water for the day.” 

“What about the toilets?” Fiona’s boyfriend asked as he’d wandered down the stairs, pulling on a shirt. Mickey and Mandy both rolled their eyes at him while Ian and Lip just seemed amused, like people who watch a fly run into a window repeatedly and think it’s funny. 

“Then I guess we just won’t flush that day,” Fiona responds in that practical frazzled way of hers. 

Then Debbie reminds the Gallaghers that they are the Gallaghers by asking, “What about Aunt Ginger?”

There was a collective “oh shit” moment that went through a majority of the crowd. Then Ian and Mickey were off to get dressed saying they had to get to work while Lip was rushing off to do a fireworks run, Mandy trailing behind him. Debbie and Carl were bickering while Liam ate his cheerios and Fiona tried to come up with a game plan for the day.

“Dude, where’s my shirt?” Mickey asked as he looked around the mess that was the three younger Gallagher brothers' room.

“I don’t know. Check under the bed,” Ian said as he pulled on a shirt that passed the sniff test. He pulled on his pants as he asked, “Find it?”

“Fuck no,” Mickey replied in a mutter as he dug through Ian’s shirts and found one that would do for the moment. Ian just shrugged and grabbed his backpack before they both were rushing out the door and down to the Kash and Grab.

“I can’t believe I lost my shirt in that shit pit of a room,” Mickey noted as he started to sweat from the early heat of the Chicago sun.

“Like you have any room to talk,” Ian couldn’t help but reply, thinking of the shit he’d found, and never wanted to find again, in Mickey’s room.

“Fuck off,” Mickey said good naturedly and yanked Ian down to give him a brief but hard nuggie. 

Ian playfully pushed Mickey off and then they were running down the street, laughing like idiots, as they made their way towards work. Just another summer’s day after all.


	19. Summer Loving

Ian was going to kill someone and that someone was going to be Frank. It was the only logical conclusion to being hauled off by CPS again and being separated from his siblings. Well, except for Lip. They were too old to be given to a real family apparently. Yet even the younger kids were being separated because this new wet-behind-the-ears-social-worker-goodie-two-shoes thought it would be best for everyone. Ian was slashing her tires as soon as Mickey handed him the knife. Mandy would probably help smash in the windows. 

But being in the group home was a bit too much like Juvie for Ian’s liking. It was familiar, easy to navigate in a way, but it also felt like a collar was being placed around his neck. He resisted to rub his wrists as if he could feel the phantom shackles of his previous incarceration. Lip was chafing as much as he was but seemed to be figuring out the power structure as fast as he could.

“Look, it’s the chick from the movie Brave,” one of the meaner boys who had been in this facility longer than most said to Ian. He was expecting a meek response, a sign of submission, what he got was a tall red headed boy standing up, towering over his taunter, and showing no signs of fear.

Ian gave a small smile that wasn’t a smile at all and asked, quietly but with a bit of bite, “We got a problem?” 

All of a sudden a small Latino boy was jumping over a bed and tugging at the nameless boy’s shirt sleeve, although Ian was inclined to nickname this one Weasel.

“Just might,” Weasel said, puffing out his chest, knowing that if he backed out now he’d lose some of the respect he had earned. But Ian wasn’t going to back down either, and it’d been a while since he’d had a good fight. Rage boiled in his veins. 

“Shut up,” the younger and shorter boy hissed at Weasel before he turned to Ian with wary eyes. “Hey Gallagher,” he attempted a friendly tone. 

“Do I know you?” Ian asked, crossing his arms across his chest and looking the boy over. 

“No,” the kid said, “but you know my cousin, Andy. He used to tell me about the legend of Gang-Fight Gallagher. Got to admit I didn’t think you were real for awhile. Just thought you were another one of Andy’s stories that he’s always on about.”

“You must be Tio,” Ian said as he searched his head for a name. Andy had a couple of cousins but the only one who ever seemed to come visit was Tio. The younger boy nodded and Ian couldn’t help but ask, “How is Andy?”

“All right,” Tio said with a shrug of his shoulders, “He stabbed a guard so he’s in for another year.”

Ian just shook his head in mild amusement. He wasn’t even surprised.

“Who’s this?” Tio asked, inclining his head towards Lip, who was just watching the proceedings with a fascinated but distant air. His blue eyes were calculating as he took in this whole new side of Ian.

“My brother, Lip,” Ian replied, before inclining his head at the two other boys who looked as if they were realizing that they’d picked the wrong kids to mess with, “Friends of yours?”

Tio shrugged and grinned, “The one who likes Disney movies is Amal and the other one is Jo.”

The other boys seem to take that as their cue to leave and the slunk off as if their pride hadn’t just been offended. Tio rolled his eyes at their backs before turning back to Ian and asking, a bit softer than previously, “So we cool.”

“Well, you don’t talk as much as your cousin,” Ian remarked and then grinned, before holding out his hand for a bro-handshake/hug and saying, “Yeah, we cool man.”

The ritual greeting and sign of respect over, Tio scampered off to be with his friends while Lip and Ian settled in. 

“So, Gang-Fight Gallagher,” Lip commented as if he were just making a casual conversation. Ian rolled his eyes at the poorly veiled fishing expedition his brother was attempting. He thought the older boy would drop in once Ian just gave him a look and went back to shorting out his backpack. No such luck.

“You didn’t tell me you made a name for yourself when you were locked up. That why your sentence got longer?” Lip observed, looking at his brother like he was a whole different person. Normally Ian was the one giving respect not commanding it, but among the violent fuck-ups of society apparently Ian was someone to be admired and feared.

“Just, let it go,” Ian sighed, “some guys thought I’d be easy pickings. Their mistake.”

“So, what? Now you’re some thug? Some type of Mickey Milkovich?” Lip couldn’t help but ask as his ire about his brother’s apparent gang affiliations began to gnaw at his insides. 

“Leave Mickey the fuck out of this, alright.” Ian demanded, his eyes darkening with anger, “He had my back in there. He still has my back. So you don’t get to say shit about what you don’t know.”

“I know he’s dangerous. I know he’s going no where and you at least have a plan for getting the hell of this shithole,” Lip insisted, all of his prejudice and distrust of Mickey finally coming out. Before, he had thought his little brother might have shit taste in men. Now he was sure of it. 

“Shut. Up.” Ian said, his voice low and full of menace, “Stop talking. You weren’t there Lip, you don’t know a God damn thing. You don’t know anything about anything that went down. I was in Juvie because _you_ wanted to prove we weren’t related. I was the one who was behind bars. Not you. Because you weren’t there.”

Ian did always know how to cut a person deepest, Lip couldn’t help but reflect as the conversation died from its sudden and brutal murder. Ian didn’t like to talk about his time away from his family. Not to anyone who wasn’t Mickey apparently. And for the first time, in a long time, Lip felt as if he were looking at a stranger instead of his little brother. A stranger who would hurt another person and walk away with a smile on his face.

“Ok,” Lip sighed, a type of apology mixed with acknowledgment of some sort, “Ok.”

Ian let it drop and the next day at breakfast he seemed to be his old self again. He looked down at the state issued food and found himself wishing he had Mickey’s intestinal system. He’d have to grab something at work because no way in hell could he even attempt to digest half this stuff.

“Hey, you gonna eat that?” Tio asked as he slid in to the seat beside Ian. He gestured to the brown logs that may have been attempting to be sausage links.

“Go for it,” Ian said, pushing his tray in Tio’s direction. He got a nod of thanks before the much younger, and much shorter, lad chowed down. 

Then the supervisor or over lord or whatever came over and began explaining the police state the boys would be further subjected to. Lip was a smartass about it as per the norm but Ian kept a carefully blank face on. He knew men like this. Men who joined the force or got involved with “troubled” youth, thinking they could make a difference, change every life they came into contact with and when they didn’t they became bitter and resentful. Like it was somehow all the kids fault and not the system or society that crippled them before letting them run.

Ian was never before so happy to go to work. It was like he could shake off the last 48 hours and slip into the skin of his old life, or at least he could pretend to. He came in the back way and was surprised to see that Mickey had gotten there before him.

“Hey jarhead,” Mickey said as he hauled out some soup cans to restock inventory. “Give me a hand.” 

“Sure thing,” Ian replied with a grin, following Mickey into the back store room. 

He hadn’t really been expecting Mickey to grab him and drag him down for a fierce kiss that led to another kiss and another. But hey, Ian wasn’t going to complain about this sudden turn of events. He gave in, sliding one hand up into Mickey’s hair, and his other hand found Mickey’s back and pulled him closer. The kissing seem to last forever and yet it didn’t last long enough.

“You wanna get on me?” Mickey asked, slightly breathless, as he pulled away. He gave Ian a grin that could power the whole city of Chicago. 

Ian didn’t even bother to verbally respond to that, he just gave a brief grin before grabbing Mickey and pulling him back for another kiss. Everything quickly devolved into clothing being half pulled off and flesh meeting flesh. It was both comforting and a burst of relief. And it was so achingly familiar that Ian half-prayed that he could always hold onto this. This moment. This feeling. This knowledge that he was wanted as much as he wanted. 

And in the end, on a hot summer’s day in the Chicago South Side, two messed up boys found some peace that had been denied to them all their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait guys. Life's been a bit hectic. I hope you enjoy this chapter though.


	20. Which Home Deserves the Welcome?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sleepover from 3x0666 does not exist in this verse.

Ian always hated going to court. He’d hated since he was a kid when Frank and Monica would spout out as many lies as they could to get _their_ kids back. It had made him extremely distrustful of the justice system that it would release anyone into the care of Frank and Monica Gallagher. Now they all had to await their fate, to see if they could go home with Fiona or be forced to rely on Frank. And no one wanted to have to rely on Frank for anything. Least of all his false son Ian.

Surprisingly, Ian had found the group home easier to navigate than the mess of foster homes he’d been put in before. In that place his reputation had preceded him and no one was eager to take on a guy that broke a kid’s leg for looking at him wrong. At least that’s how the story went. Ian didn’t even try to correct the wild tales being told about him. Half of them were true and of those half on about ten percent had accurate facts. 

Ian was convinced that Tio was building Ian up to be this giant of a man in his stories. He was more like his cousin then he would think. Whereas a lot of Andy’s stories had been made up, Tio was prone to exaggeration to the point of falsity. Still, whatever Tio’s goal for telling such outlandish stories, Ian wasn’t going to mess with the kid’s plan. Andy could have killed him in his sleep multiple times and he didn’t. Ian owed it to the guy not to teach his cousin a lesson about truthful story tellings. 

Lip would listen to the stories with a drawn expression on his face. Taking in every detail and committing it to memory. Unknown to Ian, Lip had been going around to the other boys in the home and collected stories of the notorious Gang-Fight Gallagher. What he learned made his both concerned and worried. A few stories would have made him proud but this was more than just a few tall tales. This was a novel’s worth of Ian breaking bones, causing internal bleeding, standing up for his friend Mickey, crushing a guy’s balls, getting stitches and bruises, and then getting away with most of it. 

Lip had known to next to none of this because Ian hadn’t told him. Lip had believed, perhaps foolishly, that Ian would tell him what had happened to him during lock up. That his little brother may have gotten into a few fights to defend himself but that he was still, essentially, the same kid who was a poster boy of good conduct by South Side standards. Instead, Lip was confronted with the idea that the little brother he knew no longer existed except in memories. 

Ian sat next to Lip, his arms crossed and expression blank. Except for the eyes. His eyes were wary and watchful and so unbelievably angry. Mickey sat in the row behind them with Mandy and they watched the proceedings with veiled concern. When Fiona told the story of her bringing Ian to the clinic on her own Mickey’s hands clenched into fists and his nails bit into his palms so hard he almost bled. He should have killed Frank when he had the chance.

They needn’t have worried because the judicial system, for perhaps the first time in their lives, actually worked for them instead of against. Fiona was awarded custody. They could go home. Really go home. And for a brief moment when Lip hugged Ian, he felt like he had his brother back. 

Back at the group home Ian and Lip grabbed their crap as fast as they could, eager to see the last of this place that thought of children as criminals. Before they could run for the waiting car on the curb Tio appeared out of seemingly thin air and approached Ian. He didn’t so much as spare a glance at Lip.

“You gettin’ out?” Tio asked, already knowing the answer. His voice was low and serious.

Ian nodded and Tio leaned in close to softly say, “You know you need anything, you come to us. We heard what you did for Andy and that makes you family. Makes you blood. And blood looks after blood.” Tio looked at Ian and waited.

Ian swallowed and inclined his head in acknowledgment but not acceptance. The offer was there but he hoped he’d never have to take it. Tio nodded his head and watched Ian and Lip walk outside and into the relative freedom of the real world. 

It was good to be home, Ian reflected, as he lay on his own bed, staring up the ceiling littered with old army posters. Carl was curled up in his bunk bed, looking like a small but rabid animal, Liam was in his crib, Debbie was asleep in Fiona’s room, too scared to be left on her own for the first night, afraid it might be a dream, and Lip was crashed out in his room. He should be sleeping. Should be. But it was almost three in the morning and he was wide awake.

It was like when he first got back from lockdown. The normality was just so strange to him that he couldn’t rest. Instead he got up and went downstairs and sat in the dark kitchen. He felt like a crazy person. He was certainly acting like a crazy person but he couldn’t find it within himself to relax enough to sleep. 

The clock on the stove stared at him and he finally gave up at staying in the house. He grabbed a pair of pants from the laundry and tossed on a hoodie before heading out into the night. There was no destination in mind as he closed the door behind him, so he let his feet decide where to take him. 

The darkness enveloped him and he cast long shadows as the street lights flickered and shined down on him. He moved purposefully but without purpose. There was still noise, still the reminder that people existed and carried on without any care to who Ian Gallagher was. He was just another body in a world full of bodies that ate, breathed and shit. 

Without even realizing it he found himself in front of the Milkovich house. He stared up at the raggedy old place that housed more horrors than happy memories. It was dark, everyone either asleep or out for the night, but Ian still stayed and watched the house. After a few minutes a shadow appeared on the porch and a flicker of flame lit a cigarette. A small scorch mark in the darkness. 

“Ian?” a familiar voice called out, “What the fuck are doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Ian said with a helpless laugh, gesturing in a mix of confusion and misplaced humor.

“No shit,” Mickey breathed out around an almost laugh. He took another pull of his smoke, looking at Ian through smoke and dark.

They stood there in silence, Mickey finishing off his late night cigarette and Ian watching Mickey’s mouth move. Finally, Mickey threw his butt away and moved to go inside. 

“You coming jackass?” Mickey called from the porch, his hand on the doorknob. 

Ian didn’t say anything, just obediently followed after Mickey. They entered into the darkness together and perhaps that’s the way it should be.


	21. Fucked for Life

“Dad got arrested again,” Mickey said as the summer came to an end, and he and Ian sat in the dugout after dark. 

“What he do this time?” Ian asked. Terry didn’t like him, to be fair Terry didn’t really like anyone, but he seemed to respect that Ian had done time with his son. It was some fucked up badge of honor in the Milkovich household to do time and to make life hell for the other inmates. Ian didn't think Terry would like him as much if he knew his son gladly bent over to take Ian's dick every chance he got.

“Think he stabbed someone,” Mickey replied, lighting up a cigarette and taking a large pull before passing it to Ian.

“You think?” Ian asked with raised eyebrows.

“Fuck man, I wasn’t there,” Mickey grouched, “Cops were pissed though.”

“Got to be sick of your old man,” Ian surmised, “I’d be pissed too if I had to arrest Terry. Again.”

“Well we can’t all be goody-two shoes like you,” Mickey said, giving him a smirk with friendly eyes.

“I have a record that would disagree with you,” Ian pointed out.

“Not anymore you don’t,” Mickey shot back, with a real grin this time. Ian just grinned back before taking a large pull from the cigarette. He didn’t even try to tell himself that the warm feeling in his chest was from the smoke. 

“Doesn’t make those months of shit food and listening to you bitch about how you can beat me in pull ups any less real,” Ian grinned back. This banter as familiar as the feel of fingers digging into flesh.

“I can beat you at pull ups,” Mickey replied.

“Like fuck you can,” Ian said with a small laugh, “I own your ass.”

“Prove it,” Mickey shot back, his gaze lingering on Ian’s mouth and drifting down the red head’s body.

Ian just grinned and, instead of jumping up to perform the physical challenge, grabbed Mickey and pulled him close. The tall boy paused a hair’s breath from kissing his dark haired lover and whispered into that generous mouth, “With pleasure.”

The grin that followed was worth everything as far as Ian was concerned. Everything in heaven and on earth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you had told Ian he would be sitting, handcuffed, in the back of a cop car a week before school started he would have called bullshit. Yet here he was, the cuffs chafing on his wrists, and it was all such bullshit. Mickey was sitting next to him, bleeding from his nose and yelling at the cops while they rounded up the rest of the group of delinquents.

The one time, the one fucking time, there was a fight between opposing factions that Ian and Mickey were involved with and that was the one fucking time the cops had to show up. Ian spit out a mouthful of blood onto the floor of the squad car. They been dragged into the fray because one of Mickey’s customers had met them in the alley where the fight was happening and the only way to get out was to fight their way out. And apparently there had been a snitch in the group so the cops had shown up. Ian and Mickey had been handing some two dollar thug his ass at the time so, naturally, because the universe just loved to fuck over a South Side kid, he and Mickey were arrested.

“Son of a bitch mother fuckers,” Mickey shouted at the last gang member as they were hauled past the car. “I tell you what man,” Mickey said, settling down next to Ian, “next time we see those fuckhead we let ‘em know how Milkoviches and Gallaghers take care of business.”

“You bring the weapons and I’ll supply the alibi,” Ian said with a nasty grin, his teeth blood stained and a bruise starting to show on his jaw. Mickey’s nose had slowed its bleeding but the cut above his eye still dripped and slid down onto his stained shirt. 

Mickey hocked a bloody loogie onto the back of the headrest once the arresting officers got into the vehicle. Ian took a certain twisted satisfaction in the fact that the younger cop flinched.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sentencing was inevitable with the evidence stacked against them. No way a judge would believe that self-defense was the reality of the situation. In the South Side it was defense to beat a person to the ground so that they wouldn’t go after you. Wouldn’t think you were weak for leaving them alive, if only a little beat. Had to make a point. Had to make a statement. Big, bold and clear, “Do Not Fuck With Me.”

Ian held onto his rage so that he wouldn’t give into his despair as the judge, an old white fart named Justice Franklin, read off the charges. He was giving some moralistic lecture and giving Ian a look of profound disappointment. Ian wanted to scream. He got it, he fucked up, he was never getting into West Point, not with his newly reinstated record, not like he would have gotten in anyway, he fucking got it already. 

Mickey was a ball of rage and arrogance as he stood, shackled, side by side with Ian. His glare was one of defiance and his every breath seemed to say “Fuck you, fuck you, you’re no better than me, fuck you.” He didn’t even flinch as the sentence of 6 months each in a juvenile detention facility were read out. Ian let Mickey’s rage soak into his every breath, like a safety blanket of prickles and fire blazed brambles.

The world viewed them as shit, and maybe they were, but in that moment, that moment of blazing angry defiance, they were gods.


	22. The Long Road Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Ian's reading from is Moby Dick

“Yo Gallagher, what’s up?” Andy said with a grin and a ritualistic handshake at breakfast the next morning. The Latino boy having spotted his former cellmate from across the dining room had decided to make himself, and his friendship, known.

“Hey Andy, how’s it hangin’?” Ian asked, his bruises standing out as a stark contrast to his pale skin and red hair.

“Eh, not too bad. Having a better day then my new cellmate I can tell you that much. Little punk ass bitch wouldn’t stop crying last night so I gave him something to cry about. Pissed all over that crybaby,” Andy said with a laugh. Ian just shook his head, same old Andy. “What are you in for this time?”

“Beating the shit out of some punks,” Ian said with a shrug, sitting back down to finish whatever crap passed for food in this place. Even Mickey seemed to be having a hard time stomaching the pancakes. 

“Oo oo oh, Gang Fight Gallagher’s at it again I see,” Andy laughed, “And Milkovich managed to land his ass in here too.”

“Fuck off,” Mickey grunted, his mouth full of the instant eggs.

Andy ignored him and turned back towards Ian, “Well, you know where to find me if you need me. Tio told me you helped out of a bit of jam earlier so, you know,” Andy trailed off, his eyebrows raised as he gave Ian a small nod. A nod that was returned. A promise of protection if anything were to go down.

Andy shuffled off and Mickey remarked, “You’ve got some crap taste in friends.”

“I know, but I like you anyway,” Ian said, his face slowly breaking out in one of his wide friendly smirks.

Mickey just looked at him before lightly kicking him under the table and stealing one of Ian’s meat logs. Ian just laughed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

By some twist of fate Ian found himself sharing a cell wall with Mickey. They were cell neighbors which meant their cellmates were just going to have to put up with the fact that Mickey and Ian talked. A lot. They talked about everything from baseball to if Mandy was still dating Lip and they talked at all hours.

Ian was still determined to graduate on time so he was allowed to do his homework in his cell whereas Mickey had accepted that the wonderful world of high school graduation was not going to happen for him, not matter how much Ian badgered him. Still, it was nice to hear Ian’s voice as he read from whatever book he was reading.

“Read to me,” Mickey said, his voice sleepy and calm as he leaned against the wall he knew Ian was also leaning against. His eyes were closed but he could picture Ian, red hair standing out in direct contrast of the grey cinder blocks, his long fingers firmly holding the pages of whichever book he was attempting to understand, and his face drawn into a vague scowl of concentration. Just imaging how Ian looked trying to study made the older boy smile. 

Ian rolled his eyes but began to read the passage he was on, “There is a wisdom that is woe; but there is a woe that is madness. And there is a Catskill eagle in some souls that can alike dive down into the blackest gorges, and soar out of them again and become invisible in the sunny spaces. And even if he for ever flies within the gorge, that gorge is in the mountains; so that even in his lowest swoop the mountain eagle is still higher than other birds upon the plain, even though they soar.” Ian’s voice tapered off, and he found he could not continue. For the passage, just another passage like any other in any other book, struck him and made him think of Monica. He didn’t want to think about her but for some reason he did.

“Ian,” Mickey called when Ian didn’t say anything. “Ian?” Mickey asked, his voice trying to hide the clear worry he was feeling.

But Ian didn’t feel much like talking anymore. Instead, he just let the book drop to the floor, crawled into bed, and let the darkness that had been threatening for days and days, to finally overtake him. Mickey called for him again but Ian couldn’t find the strength to reply. He was just so tired and so so sick of having to try so hard with no result. He just wanted to sleep. So that’s what he would do, sleep and hope the world would go away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day Ian didn’t get out of bed. He lay there and refused to move. He just stared out into nothing, his expression one of utter despair.

“Ian,” Mickey said softly, his voice gentle as he kneeled on the floor beside the bed. The guards had let him into the cell to try to rouse his friend when he, _Mickey Milkovich_ , had voluntarily come to a guard for help. Things had to be damn near apocalyptic for a Milkovich to ask an authority figure with a badge for aid. They stood at the entrance of the cell watching this rough crass boy be as gentle as a newborn pup. Mickey didn’t care what they saw, what they thought, the rest of the world could fuck itself as far as he was concerned, Ian was hurting, that was far more important. 

“Ian,” Mickey tried again, “you ok?”

But Ian just continued to stare in despair and he began to cry, tears just gently slipping out of his darkened eyes, as he whispered, “Go away.” But his voice was so broken, so caked in despair, leaving was the last thing Mickey wanted to do. 

He rubbed his hand over his face and fought his own tears before turning to the guards and said with naked desperation, “Can’t you help him?”

Officer Jones, a large black man with a beer belly, looked at his partner before coming into the cell, and picked Ian up in a princess hold in a functionary and professional manner. Ian didn’t even react. Not even to object. He just let himself be carried down the corridor, through the doors, and down into the infirmary. Some of the newer inmates, those who didn’t know who Ian was, or who Mickey and Andy were, laughed at the sight of this tall white boy being carried away by a big black man. 

But Mickey wasn’t laughing. And neither was Andy.

“Hey man,” And said, coming over to stand beside Mickey as he watched Ian disappear, “what happened to Gang Fight?”

And Mickey answered with all the honest certainty he had, “I don’t know.”


	23. Light in the Darkness

Ian could hear people talking to him but he couldn’t find the energy to answer. He felt hollow, empty, like someone had scooped out the important parts of him with an ice cream scooper and left them to rot in the sun somewhere. He couldn’t ever remember feeling this awful but he couldn’t really think right now. He just wanted it to stop, for it all to fucking stop.

“Ms. Gallagher,” the doctor that came to visit twice a week was saying into the white phone that looked like it was from the 1970s. For a moment, one wild absurd moment, Ian thought the doctor was talking to his mother. That Monica was somehow able to be reached and held all the answers. But of course that wasn’t true. It wasn’t Monica on the other end of that line, it was Fiona.

Ian wasn’t really listening, he just let the doctor’s questions wash over him as he closed his eyes again. He was fucked up, he didn’t need a medical diagnosis for that. 

A few days later, after the blood tests had been ordered and run on emergency order, and the medical interview with a stalwart Fiona over the phone had occurred, the doctor sat in front of him.

“Ian,” the doctor, Dr. Friedman, asked, “can you hear me?”

Ian gave the barest of nods.

“We think we’ve figured out what the problem is,” Dr. Friedman said, his voice mellow as he drew up an injection, “You’re being diagnosed with manic-depressive disorder and I’m prescribing a moderate dose of lithium to start you off. I’m going to inject this first dose but after that you’ll be getting your meds in pill form. Do not tongue them. I understand that your mother is manic-depressive as well so you understand how important it is that you maintain a regular and consistent medical treatment schedule. We’ll meet next week to discuss any issues with the dosage.”

Ian wanted to whimper, to tell the doc to go away and to leave him alone, but he couldn’t do anything as Dr. Friedman rolled up Ian’s sleeve, swabbed an alcohol wipe on a patch of skin on his shoulder, and quickly injected him. Ian felt a tear escape as Dr. Friedman put a small bandage over the puncture site and rolled his sleeve back down.

“You’ll start to feel the effects in about an hour or so. I’ve left instructions that you’re to be returned to general by dinner time. You’ll feel better by then,” the doctor assured Ian as he cleaned up his work area, his pale wrinkles hands moving with familiar precision. 

Ian just laid there and hoped the doc was right because he was sick of feeling like a empty chamber in a gun that kept getting fired.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

By dinner time Ian was up and moving, feeling the numbness and darkness begin to retreat. He wasn’t ok, but he was on his feet so that was something. A minor victory in the upcoming never ending war of his brain chemistry. 

He didn’t bother to get food, just sat down at one of the tables, resting his head on his folded arms. It was nice, in a weird sort of way, to be back with people. People who were up front with how much they wanted to fuck someone over as opposed to things like the medical system that would slowly and systematically run you through the wringer. 

“Hey,” a familiar voice said, far gentler than it had any right to be in this setting, “how you feeling?” Mickey asked as he sat down beside Ian, setting his tray down carefully so as not to get any food on Ian.

“Ok,” Ian’s voice rang hollow on that word, so he tried again, “I’ll be better.”

“Ian,” Mickey said, his voice quiet and concerned, his blue eyes staring at Ian with such care Ian leaned closer to Mickey out of pure instinct. Mickey wouldn’t hurt him, not if he could help it. “What happened?” 

Ian tried to trudge up a smile but all he got was a half quirk of the lips before managing to say, in a halted manner as if the words hurt too much, “My brain’s messed up. Like M-monica,” his tongue had tripped on his mother’s name. Somehow saying her name made it more real than the words inked into his medical file. “Bi-polar or whatever.”

“What the hell is bi-bi-whatever the fuck that thing is?” Mickey asked, his brows drawn together in confusion. He tore a piece of bread in half and held out a piece of it to Ian. Ian took it, held it, but he didn’t eat it.

Ian paused for a moment, trying to figure out how to explain something even he wasn’t all too sure of, finally he settled on, “It’s like that eagle in the book. The one that could fly into the deepest valleys and into the highest mountains. It’s like that, only with emotions, and I can’t control it. At least not,” Ian took a steadying breath, “not on my own.”

His tongue felt leaded after speaking so much after so many days of silence.

“So how do we fix it?” Mickey asked, eating what passed for stew in this place, his concerned eyes never leaving Ian.

Ian’s heart constricted and if he thought he could get away with it and live he would have kissed Mickey in that moment. Mickey had said _we_. He asked how _we_ were going to fix it. He and Ian were one in this fight in Mickey’s mind. He wasn’t going to leave Ian. Wasn’t going to abandon him to the demons of his own mind. For the first time in days Ian felt a small genuine smile creep onto his face as he looked at Mickey with all the warmth of the love he felt for this crass and impossibly gentle boy. 

“Got to take some pills,” Ian said with a half shrug, “maybe some other things, I don’t really know.”

Mickey nodded, his eyes full of unvoiced thoughts, and then, after a time of companionable silence he said, “You need to eat,” gesturing towards Ian’s uneaten piece of bread.

Ian hid his grimace at the thought of food but his stomach felt unpleasantly hollow so he forced himself to take a bite, and then another, and then another, under Mickey’s careful watch. He wanted to choke on the dryness of the bread but instead he stole some of Mickey’s water instead. Mickey moved as if to cuff him upside his red head but instead that tattooed hand cupped the back of Ian’s head and just rested there for a moment. A brief moment of kindness and warmth amidst the piss and shit and degradation that came with being on the bottom in society. Here, where there should have only been darkness and defense, he had found a source of light and comfort. 

Ian closed his eyes and leaned into Mickey’s hand, taking in the touch, and allowed himself to take shelter from the realities of his own humanity. 

Mickey let his hand drop but he shifted closer to Ian, pressing his side into the younger boy’s. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to, his intention was clear. Whatever was coming, whatever shit that was going to go down, Mickey would be beside Ian’s side through it all. They were so much more than friends, partners, allies, boyfriends. They were family. And family stuck together.


	24. An Adjustment Period

“Gallagher,” a guard’s booming voice called into the rec room where Ian sat with Mickey, Andy and Andy’s friend Carlos “Call me Skinner” Johnson. Andy had been trying to explain some new scam he’d worked out with a card game except Mickey kept calling him out on his shit because Mickey knew everything about numbers. Skinner and Ian had been laughing at the bickering and bitching that had been going on between their two friends, careful to keep it light to avoid a full out fight.

“Gallagher,” the guard called again, “You’ve got a visitor.”

Ian stood up, throwing his cards down on the table and ignored the nausea that seemed to linger as a constant side effect of his new dosage. 

“Probably Lip,” Ian remarked with a shrug to the unasked question of his friends and followed the guards out to the visitor area.

But it wasn’t Lip. Or Carl or Debbie or even Fiona who decided to visit the jailbird mentally ill brother. It was Jacob.

The boy looked younger, paler and more frightened than Ian had ever seen him before. But he was trying to be brave. Ian could read it in the set of the boy’s shoulder, the naked determination in his eyes, and his attempt to hide the minor tremors in his hands. So Ian would honor the attempt and make no mention of the poor construction of a mask of fortitude.

“Hey Jake,” Ian said after he sat down and picked up the phone, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m f-f-fine, t-t-thanks for asking,” Jake replied, his sarcasm overriding his stutter. 

“Come on Jake,” Ian sighed and rolled his eyes, then he found himself asking, “how the hell did you get down here anyway? Don’t tell me Clayton’s waiting in the car.”

“I took the bus,” Jacob said, his voice small and his eyes downcast. 

Ian tried not to let his concern show but he knew he was failing. Jacob hated public transportation because it meant being around large groups of people he didn’t know. But he didn’t press the issue.

“So what’s up?” Ian asked, ignoring a twist of his stomach.

“I,” Jake stopped, took a deep breath and tried again, “I heard from Debbie. What h-h-happened. Are you ok?”

Ian shrugged and went with the mildly honest approach, “I’m better. Still working on some side effects. Nothing for you to be worried about.” 

“I am worried,” Jacob said, his eyes holding no ill intent, only blatant concern, “Don’t you get it Ian? I am worried about you.” 

“Well don’t,” Ian said as gently as he could under the circumstances. Nothing good ever seemed to come from worrying, least of all about him. Jake had bigger issues to deal with then whether his newly discovered brother was mentally all there. Plus, if Ian started talking about how messed up he was he might not have it within him to hold back tears. So instead he asked, “How is everyone?”

“Haven’t they come to visit you?” Jake asked, confused with his brows drawn down. 

Ian shrugged and said, “Lip managed to make it down but Fiona’s busy with work and Debbie and Carl have school. It’s all right, I understand.”

Jake’s mutinous expression voiced his direct opposition to the supposed understanding of familial neglect. But he just said, “They’re all r-r-right I guess. Lip’s still not sure if he’s going to try to go to college or not but I think Mandy’s p-p-pushing him toward the degree. I like her, got s-s-spunk. Debbie’s trying to make some friends but I don’t think they’re g-g-good for her. Carl’s well, Carl. I haven’t really seen or talked to Fiona recently. Sorry.”

“No biggie, Debbie writes me letters sometimes. Said something about you having a violin competition,” Ian prompted, shoving his nasua to the back of his mind as he focused on his little brother.

“Yeah,” and Jacob went pink, “I got second. One of the judges said he’d never h-h-heard such passion from one so young.”

“Well that’s good. What’d you play?” Ian asked even though he knew next to nothing about classical music. It was like when Jake would ask him about ROTC even though he basically knew that a gun had bullets and a trigger and that was about it.

“It was an original,” Jacob said, his face now a bright red but he had a small smile on his face as he said, “I called it “Ode to Brotherhood.”’

“I’d like to hear it sometime,” Ian said with a gentle smile.

Jacob was about to speak but then a booming voice of a guard yelled, “Gallagher, you’re time’s up.”

“We’ll talk later,” Ian promised as he hung up the phone and walked away.

“Miss you,” Jacob whispered into the dead receiver as he watched his brother disappear down a grated hallway. He had to believe his brother knew that without hearing the words. Somehow his brother had to know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The hours after dinner found Ian puking his guts out into one of the communal toilets. He couldn’t decide what was worse, the smell of his regurgitated half-digested dinner or the industrial chemical stench that clung to every crevice of this God forsaken place. So far he was thinking it might be a three way tie with his stench of desperation and sick making a sudden dark horse showing.

Mickey had been worried when Ian hadn’t come back to the common area after dinner but he'd tried to hide it by playing a card game with Skinner, before giving in and going to search for Ian. He checked the usual places before heading to the bathroom. What greeted him was possibly one of the most pathetic sights he had ever seen and he’d once seen Iggy eat dog food out of a dog bowl while high while the dog watched with a look of utter judgement. 

Ian was hunched over one of the toilets, his skin covered in a faint sheen of sweat and he was paler than normal. His breathing was attempting to be steady but there was something off about it, like he was trying too hard to force air into his lungs. And he looked small, curled up in on himself, like the thing that made him _Ian_ was dampened almost to the point of being extinguished.

“Fuck, Ian,” Mickey breathed out. He went to the sink and quickly wet his hands with cold water. They weren’t allowed any paper towels for a variety of reasons, the one they gave was that a prisoner might try to suffocate themselves by shoving paper towels down their throat. The real reason was a cost cutting measure. So Mickey wet his hands and went to kneel by Ian’s side.

He ran his cold wet hands over Ian’s forehead, his head and the back of his neck. Telling Ian to breath and to just let it out. Ian gave one final heave, releasing what might have been breakfast at one point, and slumped back down on his knees again. 

“You’re meds fucking with you again?” Mickey asked as he continued to rub Ian’s back.

“Yeah,” Ian replied, his voice shaky. He blinked back the tears he could feel pricking at his eyes and tried to swallow past the bile taste in his mouth. 

“You good? Or do you have another round in you?” Mickey asked, his blue eyes full of worry.

“I think,” Ian took a steadying breath and pushed away from the toilet he’d been clinging too, “I think I’m done.”

Mickey nodded, and without a word helped Ian up. He supported Ian by letting the red head put his arm around Mickey’s shoulders while the older boy helped hold the younger boy up. It was like a scene out of a war film, with the soldier helping his wounded buddy get back to camp after dealing with enemy fire. Except they weren’t soldiers and the only battle taking place was the one between Ian’s mind, body and damn stubborn determination.

Mickey helped Ian walked down the halls to his cell, each step draining the younger boy’s energy reserves. Mickey made it a point to glare at any young shit who even thought to crap on Ian because he was sick and needed help. If any of them tried to jump Ian to prove a point Mickey would break their arms and then turn them over to Andy to be stabbed and pissed on. No one fucked with Ian Gallagher as long as Mickey Milkovich had anything to say about it.

They finally made it to Ian’s cell, Ian leaning heavily on Mickey, his sour breath escaping in pants as he half-collapsed onto his bed. Mickey sat next to him and Ian didn’t care anymore, didn’t care if someone saw them and wanted to beat up on them, he just needed to be near Mickey. So Ian slumped over and curled up half on Mickey’s lap.

Mickey should push him off, should tell him not to do shit that would paint a target on their backs, should just get up and leave. But he didn’t. Because Ian needed him and Ian was family and you don’t abandon family, especially when they’re hurting like Ian was. Instead, he ran one of his tattooed hands through Ian’s hair and wished he had a smoke.

“Mickey,” Ian said, his voice exhausted and small, “wanna go to a Soxs game when we get out?”

“Mmm?” Mickey said, then replied, “Yeah, why not? Can’t remember the last game we saw.”

“Angels v. the Soxs,” Ian said, his voice heavy as he tried to fight off sleep, “we lost in the seventh inning by one hit.”

“Right. And you nearly got into a fight with that fat fuck,” Mickey said with a small laugh as he remembered that summer night.

“Asshole was asking for it,” Ian grumbled with a grin, burying his head further into Mickey’s lap. 

“Yeah,” Mickey said gently, his hand running through Ian’s red locks, “He sure was.”

Ian’s breathing steadied and slowed after that, becoming the breath of a sleeping man instead of an ill one. Mickey let himself enjoy the weight of his lover for a time before other people would begin to file back to their cells. Once it was time though, he would gently shifted Ian into a more comfortable position on his small bed, pull the blanket over him, and make sure he was actually sleeping. 

But for now, now, Mickey would watch over Ian as he attempted to find some peace in the land of dreams for he could find none elsewhere.


	25. Just Another Day

“Well if it isn’t the psycho,” an annoying boy by the name of Jamal taunted. He was a short boy with cropped dark hair and an attitude that rivaled that of Andy on his worse day. Ian ignored him and continued to read his book. Mickey was on the phone talking with Mandy, and Andy and Skinner were both in isolation for an attempted assault on a guard, so Ian was stuck reading the book list for school in the rec room. 

Ian ignored the taunt for several reasons. One was that it would require a great deal more energy than he cared to waste to address this annoyance and two, the book he was reading wasn’t half bad. He knew what Jamal was trying to do. He was a new boy in Juvie and he wanted to establish some street cred and respect and the quickest way to do that was to take down one of the older, more established members of the delinquent hierarchy. He couldn’t go after Andy because, quite frankly, he’d probably end up dead with a smiley face carved into his chest. Likewise for nearly all of Andy’s crew. If he went after Dwight, a mountain of a man if ever there was one, he’d have to deal with the skinheads. And really, no one wanted to deal with the skinheads. He couldn’t go after Mickey because Mickey would break every bone in his body and then taunt him for not standing up to fight some more. So that left Ian who, while he fought hard and dirty, would also fight fair half the time. Half a chance was better than no chance in a gamble after all.

“Hey crazy,” Jamal continued to taunt, not realizing that just because a person didn’t hit you the first time didn’t mean they wouldn’t hit you if you kept talking, “Maybe you should have a new nickname. Gang-Fight’s a bit much for a nut like you. Maybe you should have a name that fits you better now. Like Insane Ian. Yeah, I like that much better. Insane Ian.”

Ian smiled without looking up, dog eared the page he was on, and moved as quickly as a snake. His arm reached out and his hand found the younger boy’s throat with an unmatched precision. Ian didn’t even have to move from his chair because Jamal was that much smaller than him. His large hand easily able to squeeze all necessary passages ways down to the point of non-functionality. 

“Now,” Ian said with a friendly smile that was tempered by dead eyes that hid a well of endless rage. Jamal choked and clawed at Ian’s hand in an attempt to free himself, his eyes bulging and watering, “I realize you’re a bit of a dumb shit so I’m willing to forgive you this one time. We can put it all behind us and forget it ever happened.” Ian continued to smile and he applied more pressure so that Jamal would have fallen to his knees if it weren’t for Ian’s hand keeping him in place, “If you say you’re sorry of course.”

Jamal could not breath and he weakly hit at Ian’s hand in attempt to dislodge the grip. Ian held his vice like grasp for another moment or so before easing up just enough for Jamal to suck in a minimum amount of air.

“I’m waiting,” Ian said, his voice calm and level but his eyes still full of that terrifying stillness.

“Sorry,” Jamal gasped out, even as he still tried to push Ian’s hand off his throat. But the older boy would not be moved. “My bad. Won’t happen again.”

“Good,” Ian said, his voice still that pleasant cadence, like they were just having a regular conversation in the park. He lightly squeezed down on Jamal’s neck again before pushing him away and releasing him. He didn’t even bother to see if the younger boy stayed or went away, he just turned back to his book. It was, after all, far more interesting than a wanna be thug attempting to jump places in the hierarchy.

Jamal quickly scampered away knowing he had lost any respect he might of previously had. Only a dumb shit went up against Gang Fight Gallagher or Mad Milkovich, because where one was the other was sure to follow. Sure enough, Mickey came walking into the rec room just as Jamal had achieved a safe distance from the reading boy.

“How’s Mandy?” Ian asked, as he put his finger in his book to mark his place and then closed the book so he could look at Mickey. The older boy slumped into one of the chairs that was only half busted and made himself comfortable. 

Mickey shrugged and replied, “All right. Still thinks we’re dumbasses for getting ourselves thrown in this shithole again. Said she might come down to visit in a few weeks if she can get the car from Iggy.”

“Why does Iggy have the car in the first place?” Ian asked with a raised eyebrow. Iggy was on strict probation that forbid him from basically even being near a car. Something about how putting Iggy in a vehicle was a dangerous activity or something.

“Like I keep track of all the dumb choices my brothers make” Mickey rejoined with an eye roll, his fingers twitching in restlessness. “I’m not on your case for that way your shithead brother treats my sister, now am I?”

“Bullshit,” Ian blurted out with a disbelieving laugh. “You’re always on about it.”

“Well it’s because of the way your shithead brother treats my sister,” Mickey pointed out like it was obvious. 

“Fuck off,” Ian laughed with a friendly role of his eyes.

“Mandy wanted me to ask you if you wanted any porn. She’s gonna send some up, her good deed for the year or some shit,” Mickey said, as he slouched down in his seat to get more comfortable. He rested one of his legs on top of Ian’s splayed ones but the younger boy made no move to push Mickey away.

“What’s that shit Andy likes? Boobs and Butts or something like that?” Ian asked, his expression thoughtful.

“Na man, Skinner likes Boobs and Butts. Andy like Sluts and Stuff or some of that hardcore S&M shit,” Mickey corrected.

“We should just ask for both then,” Ian replied, knowing that they would use whatever porn mags they got would be used as bartering chips to get access to the key copies some of the more industrious boys had made. With an understaffed, overcrowded facility it wasn’t that unusual for keys to go missing at certain times and then suddenly reappear. And if Ian or Mickey just happened to suddenly have a copy of said keys well, no one would be the wiser. Plus, it was always better to have something to trade rather than calling in a favor. One never quite knew what the interest would be when Andy was involved. He may be Ian’s friend but that didn’t stop him from being a crazy ass motherfucker. Ian made a mental note to never ever let Carl get introduced to Andy.

“But do you want any porn?” Mickey asked, his eyes hooded and his gaze was hot on Ian’s skin. It was a loaded question.

“Not any kind that Mandy can find,” Ian said, his eyes staring back at Mickey, his tongue unconsciously licking the corner of his mouth. What he wanted was Mickey. Panting, moaning, groaning, underneath him as he pounded into him. No porn would ever do now that he’d had the real thing. Could still have the real thing if they could ever find some goddamn privacy. 

It had been far too long since either of them had gotten laid. It was made worse by the fact that they could be around each other, could touch each other (but not enough, never enough) but never in the ways they both truly wanted. That’s why they wanted--no, needed, that key. Ian would settle for just being able to kiss Mickey again without the fear of being jumped by ten guys. And no matter what the rumors said even Ian Gallagher couldn’t take on ten angry guys with shivs and locks in socks.

Then Mickey broke their eye fucking and rolled his eyes saying, “Stop trying to be a hipster shit.” But his words were playful rather than scornful.

“Just because I have taste doesn’t make me a hipster,” Ian pointed out, lightly slapping Mickey’s leg with his closed book in reply. He let his hand linger on Mickey’s leg, his fingers digging into the older boy’s calf. “It means I know the best when I see it.”

“Oh really? The best?” Mickey said, snark in his voice and his eyebrows raised. “And what are you the best at?”

“Me?” Ian mocked back in half-surprise, “Putting up with your lack of taste obviously. You’re the only one I know who can actually stomach all the chemical shit they feed us.”

“Got to have enough energy to chase after your ass,” Mickey shot back, “Someone’s got to make sure you don’t get your head kicked in when you piss people off.”

“Oh, is that what you’re doing?” Ian said, his own eyebrows raised in speculation and his expression one of mock realization. This was good. This was familiar. The friendly teasing that slipped into flirting without anyone noticing it before retreating back into casual banter. The give and take with Mickey always felt so natural it was like they’d been doing it their whole lives. Just one South Side shit to another in an endless cycle of fuck ups and laughter. And it felt like home.


	26. Mad Dog Milkovich

In Juvie, with very little to do, and an already volatile population, sometimes fights can break out over the smallest of things. Someone walked funny, or looked at someone in the wrong way, or just breathed too loudly. Other times they can break out because some little shit doesn’t know when to cut his losses and just walk away. One such fight was about to reach its boiling point.

“Mickey, you can’t do this,” Ian said, putting himself between Mickey and the unfortunate idiot who decided it would be a good idea to start a fight with Mad Dog Milkovich. 

“Who the fuck’s going to stop me?” Mickey questioned, as he moved to get around Ian.

Ian stepped to block Mickey from lunging. “You’ve got a month left and then we’re out of here. Don’t let him fuck that up. He’s not worth it.”

“Yeah, listen to your boyfriend faggot” Jamal sneered, his upper lip curled in disgust and a heady mix of adrenalin and fear. He was all puffed up pride and obscene gestures, thinking that just because Ian was stepping in that he was safe. It was a foolish mistake and the younger boy continued to dig his own grave. 

“Listen to crazy,” Jamal taunted, not realizing that he had just signed his own death warrant. 

Ian and Mickey just seemed to stop for a moment and share a look and a thought. _This kid needs to fucking die._

“You see,” Mickey said, his tone suddenly light and his expression a twisted smile, his underlying message was clear. _Someone had to teach this kid a fucking lesson._

Ian simply replied, “I’ll be lookout,” and moved to let the older boy attack.

Mickey grinned and turned with a vicious anger on the young boy who only now seemed to realize his mistake. He couldn’t run, a crowd had formed around the spectacle, and his so called friends had faded into the background like they never existed, much like Frank’s parental duties when he had a drink. He tried to prepare himself, to get in a good hit or two, but it was no use, he was going down.

In classic Mickey style, Jamal had his balls kicked in before Mickey started wailing on the kid. A sickening crunch followed by a sharp crack a few moments later spoke of a broken nose and at least one cracked rib. The young boy was screaming and crying and no one wanted to help him. In-fact, a large group of boys cheered on the violence as Mickey’s anger mixed with an underlying layer of fear just took hold of him.

“Guards,” Ian called and just like that everyone scattered. Within moments Ian and Mickey were across the room sitting down in a card game with Andy and Skinner and everyone else went about their normal activities. Only Jamal was out of place, his face swollen and bleeding as he lay crying on the floor, clutching his side. 

“Jesus,” one of the guards muttered under his breath as he took in the mess of the kid on the floor. Two guards rushed to the younger boy’s side and were picking him up and moving him towards the infirmary within a minute. An odd quiet fell on the room as everyone waited to see what the guards would do while they pretended to not be paying attention.

“Who did this?” Officer Bizinski spoke, his voice, full of authority and righteous anger, echoed. He was a middle aged man with fair hair and blue eyes that might have made him handsome if not for the hard look perpetually carved onto his worn face.

No one said a word.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me,” the older man tried again, putting his hands on his hips in a stance of authority, “I asked, who is responsible for this?” 

After another minute of silence a kid by the name of Omar spoke up from his corner of the room where he’d been reading a comic book, “No one.”

Officer Bizinski turned to lock eyes with this skinny kid with glasses and a rap sheet of arson charges. “No one,” he said, his disbelief evident in every single syllable of that sentence. 

Omar didn’t even flinch. Everyone watched the exchange with rapt attention, waiting to see who would cave first.

“That’s what I said,” Omar replied, his voice steady and even, “The kid fell.”

“He fell?” the older man questioned, one eyebrow raised in a clear indication that he wasn’t buying any of this bullshit.

Omar shrugged, refusing to give an inch, “Clumsy kid.” And then he went back to reading his comic, ignoring the authority figure completely. 

“So that’s what you guys are going with? That he fell?” Bizinski questioned the room of silent boys. But he couldn’t do anything if none of them talked. “Little shits,” he finally muttered before storming off to make his report.

As soon as he left the noise returned to the room. “Nice one Mad Dog,” Andy laughed. He always was in a good mood after witnessing gratuitous violence.

“Let me see your hands,” Ian said, gesturing with one of his own.

“Fuck off, Ian,” Mickey replied, giving the redhead the middle finger salute.

“Let me see your Goddamn hands,” Ian demanded, gesturing again. Mickey gave in, almost pouting, as he let Ian inspect his hands to make sure he hadn’t damaged any of his knuckles too badly. If he ended up having to go the infirmary because of this then Bizinski might try to pin him for the beat down. Satisfied that there were no broken bones, just some slight swelling and a few cuts from where Jamal’s teeth had grazed the skin, Ian released Mickey’s hands and picked up his cards again.

“Suppose we owe Firebug one now,” Mickey commented as he rearranged his cards. 

“Nope,” Ian said, not even looking up, “That was payback for the comics I got him. We’re even now.”

“Do you fuckers pay off everyone?” Skinner couldn’t help but ask, mildly impressed.

“Only the useful ones,” Ian replied with a grin. That wasn’t exactly true. Ian had a thing about watching out for some of the quieter kids, making sure they had a few friends, or at least non-enemies, here and there. Omar had been one of those kids Ian had just wanted to make sure wasn’t going to try hanging himself in his cell. Turns out a little kindness had been paid back tenfold. 

Mickey just snorted at that statement knowing how much of a soft touch Ian really was, but he wasn’t going to blow the guy’s cover. Let people think he was this strong manipulative hardass instead of the big puppy who had a biting problem. Ian was just a big softie but no one here had to know that. Well, no one except Mickey.

“You fold?” Andy asked and Ian gave it a second before giving a nod and tossing his cards down in mild disgust.

Skinner called and, in a surprising move, so did Andy. When the three boys went to lay down their cards, Skinner put his down first. Two threes and two fours. A shit hand. But a shit hand could beat a bluff of a no hand depending on what else was on the table. Andy had three aces. Pretty good. But then Mickey, with a grin that made Ian half-hard to see, put down four queens and an ace.

“You fucker,” Andy said with good humor, “How the fuck did you do that?”

“What can I say?” Mickey said with a small laugh, “The ladies love me.”

And Ian laughed until he cried.


	27. The Boys Are Back In Town

“Gallagher. Milkovich. You’re being released,” Officer Bizinski called at morning sound off a little over a month later. That announcement was followed by a series of yells and cat calls from the other inmates which promptly led to the guards yelling at the boys to shut up and calm down. Andy and Skinner made sure to send Ian and Mickey off with a one finger salute and a nod of farewell, while the guards just shuffled the boys through the various locked doors and check points. 

It took a bit longer for Ian to go through processing this time around because he was being given a week’s supply of medication along with a referral and a prescription. Fiona had said, the last time she had visited him with Carl, Debbie and Liam in tow, that his meds would be covered under the insurance of her new job. She'd been awfully exited and Ian didn't want to rain on her parade about it but Ian knew he would need to come up with a long term plan. This wasn't going away. His brain would always be messed up and Fiona couldn't be there for him all the time. Still it was good for the short term. But Ian knew that the doc had slipped in some forms on Medicaid with his pills in case things went south. He’d look them over just in case life decided to fuck with the Gallagher clan again. 

By the time Ian was let out into the cold winter’s air, dressed in the blood-stained summer clothes he’d been checked in with, Mickey was already on his second cigarette. He was like a picture, leaning up against the cold brick wall, refusing to shiver even though he only wore jeans and a tank top, his tattooed fingers holding a lit cigarette. The smoke curled around Mickey, half-caressing him and his calm yet guarded face, before disappearing into the grey Chicago sky. He passed the half-smoked cigarette over to Ian without a word and the younger boy gladly inhaled the nicotine. It’d been far too long since he’d had a proper smoke and the warmth helped ward off some of the winter chill.

Lip was waiting outside the detention facility, looking far too smug, sitting in a car that sure as hell did not belong to the Gallagher clan or the Milkovich family. “Nice ride,” Mickey commented, after the brothers had their emotional reuniting hug and they’d all climbed into the car, “Who’d you steal it from?”

“No one,” Lip replied truthfully, “Roommate’s girlfriend is letting me use it.”

“She your Sugar Momma now?” Ian asked with a bit more mockery in his laugh then Lip was used to.

“You could say that,” Lip replied with a shrug and that half-amused expression that seemed to be his default around his brother. Like he was laughing at a joke other people didn’t realize had been told. 

“So you boys make a lot of friends on the inside?” Lip asked in a mocking fashion as Mickey and Ian hauled on the jackets that had been waiting for them in the car. It didn’t sit well with Lip to be the one being mocked instead of doing the mocking so he sought to rectify that error in the script.

Ian and Mickey exchanged a look that Lip couldn’t decipher and Ian shrugged and simply replied, “You could say that.” And reached over to fiddle with the radio.

From there the conversation slid into what everyone had been up to, the most recent escapades of the younger Gallagher siblings and so on and so forth. But it was obvious from the way Lip was talking that most of his information was second and third hand, that he was losing touch with his old neighborhood and becoming immersed in his college life instead. Ian didn’t blame him, but he did wish Lip would realize how damn lucky he was to have a ticket out of the South Side. Ian would kill to have that chance but hey, looked like he was a real South Side kid after all, fucked for life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How,” Ian tried to say but ended up tripping over his syllables as he and Mickey made their way home from the Alibi. Well, made their way to the Gallagher house at least. Ian and Mickey leaned into each other as they tried to walk, Ian’s arm thrown over Mickey’s shoulders and Mickey’s arm around Ian’s waist. They both swayed and stumbled over each other in a desperate attempt to stay up right. Ian buried his face into Mickey’s neck and let out a giggle before coming up for breath and said with several slurred words, “How much we drink?”

Mickey stumbled but caught himself by clinging to Ian and laughed, a small trickle of drool slipping out of his mouth before he could stop it. “I don’t even know,” Mickey managed to get out, his voice clear and bright. He continued to laugh and Ian just couldn’t stop giggling. They’d both had at least five shots and three beers but who knows how many drinks they’d had after that. Ian was extra looping because the alcohol did things to his meds that made him feel like he’d snorted some of Mickey’s best shit.

It was nearly three am by the time Ian was fumbling with his house key at the back door and Mickey kept trying to palm Ian’s dick through the younger boy's pants. Not that Ian was complaining but it was awfully distracting. 

“Not getting whiskey dick on me are you?” Mickey said his breath hot on Ian’s neck. Ian’s cock hardened in defiance of the taunt that it might not be ready to give the brunet boy a good dicking. Mickey briefly nuzzled Ian’s neck as he felt the firmness of Ian’s packaged and quietly laughed, “Nah, you’re good.” 

Ian finally managed to get the door opened and they stumbled into the kitchen, trying to be a quiet as they could while groping each other on their way up the stairs. Even smashed out of their minds they weren’t going to risk having sex in a room full of people so they decided on using Lip’s old room. Not like he was using it.

By the time they got the bedroom door closed they were both painfully hard and desperate for each other. They practically ripped off each others clothes as they frantically licked and kissed and touched and held every single part of their partner that they could find. Their coupling was hard, fast and messy but it was no less wonderful. It was a reunion in its way. An intimate reunion that belonged only to the two of them.

It didn’t take long for either boy to recover and then they were on each other again. This time it was slower, more deliberate and careful. Ian looked down on Mickey’s face, memorizing every twitch as the younger boy pushed into the older lad. Then Mickey couldn’t take it anymore and was dragging Ian’s head down for a long kiss that continued into another kiss and another and so it went.

At the end of it, Ian lay with his head on Mickey’s chest, not even pretending that he was going to move. His long fingers traced small circles on Mickey’s pectoral, trying to find his breath, and he could feel Mickey gently running his hand through his damp red hair. They just lay there, soaking each others presence in. Neither boy was inclined to move or to even try to bluff the other person into moving. 

They didn’t have to be quick or careful. Not tonight. There was no guard who might try to exploit their sexuality for favors. There weren’t any inmates ready to shove a plastic shiv into a gay boy’s heart or spleen. No threats of beatdowns if it was revealed that Mickey and Ian were anything but straight best friends. Here, they were safe. Here, they didn’t have to pretend.

So they did not move.

“Missed this,” Mickey gently said, his eyes fixed on Ian, his fingers now lightly running up and down Ian’s back, “Missed you.”

Ian didn’t even try to hide his smile as he simply replied, “Yeah, me too.”

Because nothing more needed to be said. They’d both missed this closeness, not just the physical, but the emotional kind as well. Here, in this room, with just the two of them they could be who they really were without all the walls and protective barriers they had put in place around their hearts and souls. Here, they weren’t Gang-Fight Gallagher or Mad Dog Milkovich. They were just Ian and Mickey. Two boys who had grown up too fast but who now had found someone who saw them as they really were. Stripped bare to all the ugly and wonderful parts of who they were at the end of the day. And they were still loved. In-spite of, and because of, everything that they were they were loved. Wholly and completely without any expectations. And that knowledge, that feeling, was freedom.

Ian shifted and raised himself up slightly so that he could press a gentle kiss into Mickey’s mouth before lying back down on Mickey’s chest. The older wrapped his arms firmly around Ian and pulled him closer, took a deep breath to take in Ian’s scent and then let himself fall asleep.

And both boys slept with gentle dreams and the shadow of unease far from their bed.


	28. A Cup of Coffee and a Talk

Ian wasn’t surprised to see Fiona sitting at the dining table the next morning, clearly waiting for him. She was already dressed in her grey work suit but there was a set of unease about her shoulders that betrayed her calm face. At least she waited until Ian had poured himself a cup of coffee before she started.

“So Mickey,” Fiona began, and Ian let out a heavy sigh before sitting down across the table from his sister. He was wearing one of Lip’s old shirts that was nearly ripping at the seams due to Ian’s muscles that had only really grown in Juvie, and a pair of Mickey’s boxers along with a tangible air of frustration at being interrogated the day after he’d just gotten out of one detention facility. He hadn’t traded a military state only to end up under marshal law. 

“Wherever you’re going with this,” Ian interrupted, “just stop.” He took a sip of his coffee and watched his sister from over the stained rim of the old mug, his green eyes were calculating as his sister seemed taken aback by Ian’s assertiveness. 

“He’s not good for you,” Fiona pushed on, insistent, her brown eyes imploring.

Ian just snorted. “Bullshit,” his tone darker than it had ever been when speaking to one of his siblings. 

“You’ve been to juvie twice now,” Fiona began but she was cut off by Ian’s harsh laughter.

“You think I don’t know that?” Ian asked, his armor settling back into place. And he’d woken up in such a good mood too. “I’m surprised you even remember that considering you visited, what? Four times? Fuck off Fiona.”

“Christ, Ian, I’m trying to look out for you,” Fiona replied, now on the defensive, “You start hanging out with Mickey Milkovich and suddenly you’re getting into fights, getting tossed into juvie. You think you’re a tough guy now just cause some gang-bangers call you Gang Fight?” Ian just rolled his eyes and continued to drink his coffee. Fucking Lip had probably squealed about the nickname and what it meant. He could have gotten up, walked away, but he was genuinely curious about where Fiona was going to take this.

“What’s next? You gonna start pushing for Mickey? Gonna drop out of high-school? Maybe get some knuckle tattoos?” Fiona theorized in disgust.

“Maybe I will,” Ian replied with a hardness in his words that had never been there before in regards to his family, “But it’s a bit hard to drop out of school when I’ve already graduated.”

“Wh-what?” Fiona asked, completely derailed at that revelation. “When did this happen? Were you even going to tell me?”

“I finished up my school requirements like three months into my sentence. Sent me the pretty piece of paper and everything,” Ian replied, his eyes dark and unfeeling and yet watching for any weakness to exploit. “But thanks for the ‘Congrats Ian,’ I can really tell how much this means to you.” Then he took another drink of his coffee. Like fuck was he going to let some stupid family argument ruin his first cup of coffee since being locked up.

“I am proud of you,” Fiona dove in, in an attempt to salvage this conversation, “I just wish you had told me.”

“I was going to tell you the next time you came to visit but we all know how well that worked out,” Ian said, not even bitter, just resigned.

Fiona swallowed back the defensive words she was going to say because Ian was right. Maybe not completely, but enough to make her reasons and excuses turn to ashes in her mouth. Her little brother used to look at her with respect and a knowledge that she would be there for him. Now, now he looked at her as if she was just another factor he had to calculate into his life. And she deserved that on some level, she realized that, because she hadn’t been there for her little brother like she’d been there for Lip or Debbie. She’d let him handle it. And now he was handling her.

“You going to tell me why Mickey’s sleeping in your bed?” Fiona finally asked, after the silence became too much for her. Ian was used to awkward stare downs with his cellmate so he’d been perfectly comfortable letting Fiona stew.

Ian just rolled his eyes and bluntly said, “I’m gay.” Like that cleared everything up. But he was tense as he waited for Fiona’s reaction.

“I know,” she replied, no hint of scorn or hate in her tone, and Ian relaxed just a fraction. “Doesn’t explain Mickey.”

And Ian gave a wolfish grin and said, “I like my men rough.” 

The redhead enjoyed sipping his coffee as he watched the realization slowly dawn on his sister’s face along with a vague look of disgust as part of her brother’s sex life was now permanently lodged in her brain. It wasn’t exactly true though. Mickey was more rough around the edges then actually rough. He was actually a bit of a softie when it was just the two of them. Thinking of those private moments caused Ian to raise his cup to hide his sudden grin.

“Can you make sure the kids get to school?” Fiona asked, switching topics in an effort to avoid thinking about where her brother’s dick had been. “I’ve got to go in early.”

“Sure,” Ian said with a shrug of his shoulders, letting Fiona off the hook from further conversation. He could have needled her about fucking the boss, letting Debbie have sleep overs on school nights or not supervising Carl but he let it go. Fiona nodded her thanks and got up to put her cup in the sink, a strange silence now lingering in the kitchen. A few moments later Mickey wandered down the stairs in Ian’s boxers and a shirt that belonged to everyone and no one.

“Fuck Ian,” Mickey half-muttered, “You always up this early?”

Ian just rolled his eyes and pointed out, “You’re up.”

Mickey gave Ian a look before saying, “Smartass. Take your pills.” And he set Ian’s round pill dispenser next to the redhead’s mug before going to get himself a cup of coffee. He sidestepped Fiona with ease, barely giving her a morning nod before returning to his task.

“Hey, you doing anything today?” Ian asked as Mickey found the sugar and began to liberally add it to his black coffee.

Mickey shrugged his shoulders and said, “Hadn’t planned anything. Why?”

“Want to go with me to the Kash-and-Grab? Gonna try and see if Linda will give me my old job back,” Ian replied while shaking out the palmful of pills for his morning dose of the meds he was currently on. “Maybe swing it to get your job back too,” he added and then tossed back his pills.

“Yeah, alright,” Mickey responded, coming over to sit across from Ian, “Jihad Jane’s usually good for a laugh. But if she comes after you with a machete I’m not stepping in.”

Ian just laughed and Fiona paused to watch. The man sitting in her kitchen wearing the skin of her brother barely resembled the kid she knew from her memories. When did he grow up? When did she stop watching him grow up? Ian was always the one of her kids who seemed to have his shit together, who had a plan, was able to handle himself. Except, if she thought about it, she didn’t really know his plans or what he was handling. She didn’t really know what had happened to him in juvie that the sweet kid she knew seemed to buried under layers of defensive tactics and harsh snark. So she tried not to think about it too hard because if she did then she would be forced to admit that the Ian she knew, or at least thought she knew, didn’t exist anymore. That she didn’t realize that boy was slipping away until he was gone.

The only person who seemed to look at Ian and see him, really see him, appeared to be Mickey Milkovich. He was making her brother take his meds, he laughed with him, and he didn’t find anything Ian said to be odd. And Fiona wondered if that relationship had just happened gradually or if she had just been too busy to notice it. As Ian reached out and casually ran his hand over one of Mickey’s, Fiona shook her head and wrapped her scarf around her neck. She had a job to do and a household to run and Ian was practically a grown man. He’d be fine. He always was.


	29. Life's Little Tragedies

A couple of weeks later Ian was closing up the Kash-and-Grab by himself because Mickey was out helping his brother knock over some cartel weapons shipment or something. He and Mickey had been able to get their old jobs back with suspicious ease but Linda probably just wanted staff she knew wasn’t going to steal from her. She’d barely even given them the threatening run down about what would happen if any of their new found thug friends tried to treat this store like a food pantry. But she seemed almost relieved to fire that Planack kid with the deep set acne who called Linda the A-rab. Mickey and Ian weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and gladly took on most of the shifts at the store. 

Mickey would normally be here but he felt he owed it to his brother, Tony this time if Ian remembered correctly, to make sure he’d didn’t get arrested or killed since he’d pissed off ever since Terry got locked up again. With Terry gone and the other brothers scattering to the delinquent winds that meant the house was essentially Mickey’s and Mandy’s. Which meant Ian was spending a hell of a lot more time over at the Milkovich house voluntarily then probably any non-relative in the neighborhood ever had.

The fact that the Milkovich house provided more privacy for him and Mickey would never cease to amaze Ian. The Gallagher house was pretty crammed even with Lip off at college and Fiona spending more and more nights over at her boss’s place, and the back room at the Kash-and-Grab was really only good for a quickie. Ian could fully admit he’d developed an appetite for taking his time when it came to Mickey. To linger in his touch and the feel of his boyfriend. The Gallagher house didn’t exactly lend itself to quiet and closed doors but, surprisingly, the Milkovich house did. He couldn’t help shaking his head a little at that revelation before double checking the various locks and turning off the lights. He was just getting ready to head out when his phone started to buzz. 

He didn’t think it would be anything, maybe Mandy asking him to do the laundry since she’d picked up an extra shift at the diner. An added benefit to being over at the Milkovich’s was that he actually got a chance to hang out with Mandy more since things had been awkward ever since her and Lip had broken up. Ian checked his phone just in case it was Debbie asking for someone to come rescue her from a sleepover or something. But it was text from Carl and all it said was _Liam @ hospital. Drug OD. Fiona arrested. Come asap._

Ian felt the claw of panic clench around his heart as he locked the back door and called Lip. When he heard more of the story he took off in a sprint towards the L fighting the urge to vomit as he grabbed the first train he could. He couldn’t even sit he was shaking so bad. He wanted to scream and cry and yell but he kept it inside because now was not the time to have a melt down. There were people counting on him and he could not let them down.

His little brother was in the hospital. Not sick, not from some playground spat, but because Fiona had left out coke. His big sister, the responsible one, the one who had pounded into his and Lip’s brains that hard drugs would make them turn out like Monica or Frank, was the one who ended up hurting their little brother. He was only three for fucks sake. If he could throw a brick through a window right now he would do it without hesitation. Fuck being a fuck up. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wanted to scream but he bit the inside of his cheek instead, relishing the small release the familiar pain gave him. 

As soon as the train pulled into the station he was out the door, running at full speed towards that looming brick building. The linoleum and antiseptic smell reminded him a bit too forcefully of the med room in juvie and he forced himself to stop for a moment, to breath, before he could keep going. He struggled to find which floor his family would be on and as he took the elevator up to the right floor he fought tears of frustration and fear. He’d never felt more scared in his life as he entered the waiting room and saw Debbie, Carl and Lip all huddled together.

“Any news?” Ian asked, trying to catch his breath as he hugged Lip fiercely. His older brother clung to him just a bit harder, needing that extra bit of strength for this ordeal. Once he released him, Ian’s arms were filled with Debbie and Carl who clung to him as they struggled trying not to cry. Ian murmured to them that it would be ok, that it would be all right even as his eyes were trained on Lip, waiting for an answer.

Once Carl and Debbie had gotten themselves under control, well as under control as one could be given the circumstances, and released Ian, Lip pulled Ian off to the side and explained the situation. It was worse than what Ian thought and he struggled to stay up right, to stay strong for his family. They needed him now and he couldn’t allow himself to be weak. Not now. Not when it mattered most. Not when everything was crumbling down around them.

The Gallagher siblings settled into the waiting room, prepared for the long haul of anxious waiting and trying not to give into the despair that came with uncertainty. Ian sat in between Carl and Debbie, both of them clutching his hands as they all waited for a doctor or a nurse or anybody to give them any new information. The minutes passed and still, nothing. Kev and V took turns getting everyone a cup of coffee or tea and each of the siblings took the time to text their closest friends or boyfriends or girlfriends an update about what had been going on.

Finally, finally, a worn doctor came out trying to find the guardian or next responsible adult in charge of Liam Gallagher. Lip and Ian stood up but Ian let Lip do the talking. He was the one who could do battle with words, not Ian. This was Lip’s fight because Lip needed to fight someone right now. Needed someone to prove wrong, to show that their little brother had people watching out for him. The doctor was going on about how only adults over 18 were supposed to go back to see Liam after Lip had worn her down but unless they were checking ids Ian was going with Lip.

The walk down that hospital hallway was the longest he’d taken in his entire life. He’d been in some fucked up situations. He walked into fights, into failures of relationships, into places where if anyone ever fought out who he really was, what he was, he’d be dead before the sun rose. But that was always about him, his fuck ups. Now, this was about his brother. His little brother who liked dinosaurs and who thought his mom was Fiona. Ian had never wanted to vomit more in his entire life. 

The sight of his little brother strapped down to a hospital bed, IVs coming out of his little arms and machines running and beeping, nearly broke Ian but he forced himself to remain standing upright. For Lip. For Liam. He was cracking and crumbling on the inside but on the outside he looked like he had it together. Looked like he wasn’t seeing a nightmare come into the land of the living. Looked like he could handle seeing his brother fighting a battle that he should never had to face in the first place. He was keeping it together. What a crock of shit.

The doctor was explaining what had happened to Liam, what was happening and what possible outcomes they’d be facing. Her voice was straight forward but full of that horrid resignation that came with seeing too many abused kids to count. She mentioned brain damage and Ian couldn’t stay quiet.

“What,” Ian took a small breath, crossed his arms over his chest and continued, “what kind of brain damage?” Lip’s eyes were trained on the doctors, waiting for any twitch or tell of a lie whereas Ian could barely look away from the sight of his brother trying not to seize.

“There’s a possibility that his cognitive functions could be delayed creating difficulty with learning. Behavior problems are a distinct possibility as well as an increased risk for other mental health issues,” the doctor explained, her eyes kind but her voice careful and straightforward, “We won’t know anything for certain until he’s completely stabilized. I’m sorry.” And then she was off to take care of her patients, leaving a nurse to escort them back to the waiting room.

By the time they got back to their younger siblings Ian could feel himself unraveling. He was breaking, he was breaking, and he could do nothing. He was helpless, his little brother nearly died and he was helpless. V and Kev offered to take Debbie and Carl home and Lip accepted the offer for the kids, insisting they try to get some sleep before coming back in the morning. That he'd keep them updated, but Ian and Lip weren’t going anywhere. 

The kids left and it was just him and Lip but they didn’t say anything. There wasn’t much they could say. And then Lip was getting a call from prison from Fiona and he was up on his feet, walking down the hallways to yell the reality of the situation at his sister. Which left Ian alone, in an empty waiting room, with nothing but his thoughts and helplessness to keep him company.

He was drowning and yet being eaten alive at the same time. There was no air and no space and yet Ian was floating in a darkness he could not name. There had to be a way to fix this, some way to make this right. What was Fiona thinking? Why was there even coke at the house in the first place? And Liam, what was going to happen to Liam? To all of them? Ian hated his thoughts and yet he could not stop them.

And then, the metal elevators doors opened and revealed the one person in the whole world who could possibly make any of this ok: Mickey Milkovich. The older boy stepped out of the metal box and into the waiting room, his large coat threatening to dwarf the stocking frame. Ian was on his feet in moments and Mickey made a beeline for the younger boy, his expression one of worry and concern. He stood in front of the taller boy and asked, impossibly gentle, “How bad is it?” 

And just like that Ian was crying and Mickey was holding him, pressing the younger boy’s face into the juncture of Mickey’s neck. Ian tried to stop the tears, he really did, but he couldn’t, not with Mickey’s arms around him and his touch soothing him. He took in Mickey’s scent and it was so much like home, so much like _safe_ , that Ian felt all of his carefully constructed walls come crumbling down. So Ian gave in and let himself cry because his little brother was hurt and he could nothing.

“He’s so small,” Ian managed to gasp out, “He’s so small and he’s got all these machines and he’s tied down. His brain’s fucked.” Ian could not catch his breath and an edge of hysteria had worked its way into his words, “He’s gonna be like me. He’s going to be fucked up like me.” And Ian finally broke down completely, sobbing at he clung to Mickey.

Mickey just held on to Ian tight, one hand cupping Ian’s head and the other clutching the younger boy around his waist. The strongest, bravest person he knew was hurting and all Mickey could do was hold him as he fell apart. But it was enough. For now it was enough. Because someone was there for Ian. Someone was letting him drop the facade of the strong one and just let him be who he was in that moment: a scared kid who didn’t know what to do. 

And it was enough.


	30. The Following Days

“A hundred thousand?” Mickey questioned as he got another cup of hospital coffee from the machine. Ian sipped his dosage of caffeine and nodded solemnly.

“There’s no way,” Mickey supplied, “Do you know anyone that has 10,000 in collateral? Cause I sure as hell don’t.”

“It’s not like lockdown is the end of the world,” Ian shrugged, less concerned with the fact that Fiona was in jail then he was for the reason she was there in the first place. He'd done time twice and he had been able to handle it. Being locked up for a few days before her trial wouldn’t kill Fiona. Not like she’d almost killed their little brother. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to ward of the impending headache from the lack of sleep mixed with the side effect of his meds and a healthy dose of worry. “I’ve got to talk with the social worker today.”

“Not like it’s your first time at this rodeo,” Mickey pointed out without pity but with understanding. He smelled the burnt roast, wrinkled his nose but resigned himself to drinking whatever piss this hospital called coffee. He wasn’t going to be picky if it meant he was awake. Then he sighed and asked, “We’re gonna have to get Frank, aren’t we?” He ran a hand through his hair in minor frustration as he watched Ian slump a little bit in defeat.

“Fuck. Yeah, probably,” Ian replied. He’d leave Frank to Carl and Lip while he ran interference with the social worker. He could pull off the puppy dog look better than Lip could and he held the sympathy card in spades. If all else failed he would call Clayton to bail them out. Asshole owed it to him to be the last resort of a desperate bastard son.

“How did things get this fucked up?” Ian wondered aloud, his green eyes imploring as he looked to Mickey for an answer. He looked so much like a lost puppy in that moment, like he’d been told to sit and wait in a field by a family that was never coming back, that Mickey reached up and pulled Ian’s head down to rest for a bit on the older boy’s shoulder. The redhead gladly rested there for a long moment, taking in Mickey’s smell, and just letting himself relax for a brief amount of time.

“Hell if I know,” Mickey said gruffly, sounding older than anyone his age had a right to, as he pet the back of Ian’s head, pausing to rub his thumb in circles at the base of Ian’s skull. Ian nearly purred it felt so good. When Mickey stopped his ministrations a minute later Ian couldn’t help but let out a small whine as Mickey pulled away from him.

“Don’t be a punk,” Mickey replied to Ian’s noise. But he said it in a way that meant “we’ve got things to do and there will be time for that later.” Ian nodded but that didn’t stop him from wanting to just curl around Mickey and sleep for a year and a day, to make all of this terrible shit seem like a horrible dream.

“Fuck, I need to call Linda,” Ian suddenly remembered, one of his hands reaching up to grip his hair in frustration and fear for his job. He’d be beyond fucked if he got fired. With Fiona’s new job surely down the shitter that meant no more nice new insurance, which meant that Ian was going to need to shell out for co-pays for Medicaid. He’d probably need to emancipate himself to even qualify but at this point he’d take what he could get. No way was he going off his meds. Not after that shit show that happened in Juvie, Ian never wanted to feel that way again.

“Don’t worry about it,” Mickey interrupted Ian’s worry fueled thought process, “I called her. She’s got it covered. Said to tell you not to worry about it, take care of your brother and be back when you can.”

And Ian looked at Mickey like he’d just hung the sun in the sky and given every orphan a puppy, Of course Mickey would take care of it, of course. Because that’s what Mickey did, he took care of things. He took care of Ian. Just like Ian took care of him. It’s what family did after all. And after all of the terrible shit they’d been through, all the times they’d had each others backs in a fight or making the most of their shitty South Side existence, they were family.

“Thanks man,” Ian said, gentle and soft and warm. And when he said ‘thank-you’ he really meant ‘I love you.’ From the way Mickey ducked his head to hide his blush he knew that. Then Mickey was looking at him from beneath his eyelashes, causing Ian’s heart to twist and do funny things, while he gave Ian that small smile he seemed to keep hidden from the rest of the world.

It was only for a brief moment, one special second of pure happiness amidst tragedy and despair, but it was there. That glimmer of hope in a darkness created by human hands. Ian clung to it, clutched that moment tight, and dragged it deep into his heart for safe keeping. He had great need of its warmth and light when he turned to face the worn social worker who had the look of a battle hardened veteran and not a green newbie. This was going to be a tough battle.

“Mr. Ian Gallagher?” the woman asked, her brown eyes sweeping over the tall boy and taking in Ian’s disheveled appearance and his choice of waiting room companion. Ian nodded and he could feel Mickey take his stance behind Ian, his arms crossed and his face hard as he observed the whole CPS shitshow. “I’m Janic Keller, I’ve been assigned to your brother Liam’s case,” she glanced down at her file, “and you and your other siblings if the need should arise.”

Ian swallowed and nodded his understanding.

“I understand your sister Fiona Gallagher is your legal guardian along with your father Frank Gallagher,” Janic said in that perfunctory tone that all government officials learn. Ian gave a murmur of assent and Janic continued, “Were you there when the incident involving Liam Gallagher occurred?”

“No,” Ian supplied, his voice subdued. He’d learned early on in Juvie you didn’t answer more than you had to. Reveal too much and you either end up a snitch or in lockdown for another year or so.

“Where were you?” Janic asked, making a note in her file.

“I was at work. I had closing shift,” Ian answered and he could feel Mickey tensing up behind him.

“And where do you work?” Janic asked, her eyes flickering briefly to Mickey and then back to her file.

“The Kash-and-Grab, it’s a corner store run by the Karibs,” Ian supplied, know that Janic would probably be double checking his alibi. Especially since he’d seen her eyes linger on his previous arrests. 

“Mr. Gallagher, were you aware, or did you have reason to suspect, that your sister Fiona was in possession of cocaine or any other illegal substance?” Janic asked with a hidden sigh, already knowing the routine answer.

“No,” Ian replied and then added, “And I don’t think the coke was her’s either.”

“Were that it was so Mr. Gallagher,” Janic replied, now looking directly at the young teen, “but the transcript form the paramedics show that your sister did claim the coke as her own.” She let that statement sink in for a moment before asking, “Do you, or do you know of anyone in the household, that would be in possession of such drugs?” 

“No,” Ian said. Technically he wasn’t lying since Frank didn’t live in the household with them and he’d be the one with the drugs. Carl might have gotten his hands on some hard shit but he would have passed it on to Frank to aid his dying process. 

“It says here in your file that you are taking some pretty heavy medication for bipolar disorder,” Janic continued, her tone never really changing, and Ian flinched at the clinical way his mental health was spilled out into the hospital air. “Do your siblings, or anyone else, have access to those medications?”

“No,” Ian replied, refusing to elaborate. He usually kept his meds at Mickey’s because he knew they’d be safe there. Mandy and Mickey would kick any of their brothers’ asses who tried to take the meds and there was no fear of someone small accidentally swallowing them. Plus, Mickey didn’t give him any weird sad looks when he was taking his meds like his own family did. Or worse, those wary watchful looks Lip would sometimes get when he actually came home to visit. Like Ian was suddenly going to snap and slit his wrists like Monica had done. Like he was some male Monica. He wasn’t. He never would be. He refused to be her.

Janic just gave him a look before saying, “If I have any further questions I’ll be sure to contact you.”

“Wait,” Ian said before Janic could turn and walk away, “are you going to take Liam away?” He had to know what was going to happen so he could make his plan of attack.

“That is a possibility,” Janic answered, her brown eyes examining Ian’s face closely, “Of course, it will depend on the suitability of Liam’s guardians and if the state feels that it is within the child’s best interest to be removed.”

“If that happens,” Ian paused and took a breath to fight off the clawing panic at the thought of losing Liam to the system inspired, “you guys normally give the kids to a relative first, right?”

“Well, we try to if those blood relatives are deemed suitable. But yes, we do try to keep the children with blood relations or family whenever possible,” Janic answered, glancing at her watch.

“So if things go bad and you do take Liam,” Ian forced himself to breath and he could feel Mickey lightly leaning into his side, giving him the strength he needed, “could you place him with his uncle, Clayton Gallagher?”

Janic raised an eyebrow and said, “Clayton Gallagher? He wasn’t mentioned anywhere in the file.”

Ian huffed and gave the reader’s digest version of his fucked up family, “Look, my Uncle Clayton isn’t really my uncle, he’s my dad. But I was raised Frank’s son and I didn’t find out until two years ago that I was actually a product of one of Monica’s affairs with Frank’s brother. He’s been kinda shit about the whole thing since he found out, Clayton not Frank, but he’s not a bad guy. Lives on the North Side and everything. So, if it’s possible, if it does come down to you taking him away, I would like to ask that Liam be placed with his uncle.” Ian looked helplessly at Janice and added in his most soulful desperate way, “Please.”

Janic paused, sighed and said, “Now I’m not promising anything,” as she opened up the file again and proceeded to make a note, “but I will strongly recommend that if removal occurs that Liam Gallagher be placed into the temporary custody of Clayton Gallagher.” 

“Thank you,” Ian said, his voice soft and his expression one of naked gratitude. Mickey was impressed by how thick Ian was laying it on but it was obvious the social worker was just lapping it up. Apparently the taciturn troubled youth who broke down to ask for help for his sibling would win over even the most stubborn of case workers. _A thug with a heart of gold_ is what Ian liked to call this play. It seemed to be working too as Janic gave Ian a nod and turned to take care of her next case of child endangerment. 

“You think Liam will really get removed?” Mickey asked once Janic was out of earshot.

Ian turned to look at Mickey and bluntly said, “At this point I’d be surprised if he didn’t, but Frank’s kept us under shitty circumstances before.”

Mickey nodding, fully understanding the failures of the system that failed to protect him or his siblings. Ian rubbed his hand over his face, forcing himself to stay awake even though all he wanted to do was lie down and fight the overwhelming urge to puke. One of the side effects of his meds was nausea and it just seemed to get worse the less sleep he had. He was worn to the bone right now and he’d knew it'd be a least a few more hours still before he could finally lay down to rest. 

Liam would be released today, Lip would find Frank like he always did and somehow get him to follow through on that whole being an actual parent thing, and Fiona would stay in the can for just a little bit longer. As terrible as it might sound to some people Ian felt the time out away from the family was perfectly justified under the circumstances. As Ian thought about what needed to be done he didn’t even realize Mickey was herding him back to the waiting room chairs and had Ian sitting before he even realized it. 

“Sleep, Ian,” Mickey murmured, “I’ll wake you up if anything happens.”

Ian was going to fight it, was going to say he could handle himself and he didn’t need nap time. But he looked at Mickey and some part of him just sagged in relief at the mere thought of rest, without Lip’s anxious breathing or Debbie’s choked breathes as they waited for Liam to be released. So he gave into Mickey’s good sense and laid down on the uncomfortable plastic chairs, resting his head on Mickey’s lap and pulled his coat over him like a blanket.

He was able to get in about an hour of actual rest before Mickey was gently shaking him awake, letting him know that his siblings were arriving. Ian sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and gladly accepted the cup of cooled coffee from Mickey. It tasted like burnt shit but it had caffeine in it so he’d take what he could get.

“This is worse then when Donny got kicked in the head,” Ian noted as Carl arrived with a nearly passed out Frank in a wheelchair. 

“We always knew Donny was fucked though,” Mickey replied, referring to the fact that Donny had been jumped into the gang life early, and he hadn’t exactly made friends because of it. Kid had gotten the shit beaten out of him so often, both by enemies and his own crew, that he’d gotten one too many concussions. Donny hadn’t had a lot going for him, he wasn't smart, wasn't tough, and he followed bad decisions like they were heavenly mandates, whereas Liam did just a kid. A kid who liked to smile and eat pancakes and play with dinosaurs and that made all of this so much worse.

Ian gave a noise of assent as Lip arrived, looking as though he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. His elder brother just glanced to Mickey with a question on his face but then decided that it wasn’t worth it to inquire. They had bigger fish to fry.

“How was the social worker?” Lip asked as he took a seat catty corner to Ian.

“Wanted to know if you’d been stealing my meds,” Ian replied, trying to infuse a minor bit of humor into the situation. Lip snorted in response and nodded his head because he knew Ian’s response meant that the social worker meeting went as well as could be expected under the circumstances. Then the elevator doors opened to reveal the last of the Gallagher clan.

“Where were you last night?” Lip went into full protective mode as Debbie arrived in the seated area.

“I stayed over at Matty’s,” she replied like it was obvious, gesturing to an overgrown man child who gave them all a wave. And it clicked in Ian and Lip’s mind at the same time, that this was the guy Debbie, thirteen year old Debbie, was supposedly dating. They were both on their feet in an instance.

“You’re fucking kidding. How old are you man?” Lip asked, his rage bubbling to the surface.

“Too old,” Ian supplied, cracking his knuckles. Looks like he would be able to kick someone’s ass today after all. Mickey resisted the urge to point out that it was ironic that Ian would call out anyone’s partner as too old considering where the redhead’s dick had been. But he also understood. It was different when it was your little sister being taken advantage of by some creep who liked the kiddies a little too much. So Mickey had Ian’s back on this one, and he cracked his neck and loosened himself up a bit in preparation of a good pounding.

“Too fucking old,” Mickey agreed and gave a nod to Ian. They’d beat the shit out of this creep just as soon as Ian gave the go ahead.

But before anything could happen, the nurses were wheeling Liam out and everyone’s attention rightfully diverted to the smiling little boy. It was a moment of relief and joy to see Liam upright and smiling again. He was just a little kid and he deserved to smile, deserved to be happy, especially after all of this. He seemed to bask in the attention and affection of his older siblings, giggling as Debbie and Carl took turns to lightly tickle him.

Ian kissed Liam on the top of his head and took a moment to send a prayer to a God he wasn’t sure even existed to keep his little brother safe. And sane.


	31. Locked and Loaded

“Can’t believe they’re letting you guys keep the kid,” Mickey noted as he blew out a puff of smoke from the last drag he’d taken from a spent cigarette and reached for the metal file. He and Ian were sitting at the Milkovich dining table clad only in their boxers and undershirts while they worked on checking the various AK-47s and small handguns for any possible defects or tell tales. In-between inspection of the goods they would file off the serial numbers to make them black market friendly.

The mid-morning light filtered in through the dirty windows making Ian’s hair look like it was made of fire. Mickey would catch himself looking at it, admiring how it seemed to give the younger boy a sort of ghetto halo. Like Ian was one of those fiery angels that did battle with Satan and somehow won and decided to be the patron saint of stolen firearms. The redhead put down his own gun and pulled free another smoke from a nearly empty pack before lighting it up, taking a short pull, and exhaling the smoke into the air.

“Yeah,” Ian replied in that non-committal way of his. He glanced towards the old worn couch where Liam lay curled up, sleeping. “No one ever said the state was smart.”

Lip and Ian had come to an agreement to take shifts watching Liam. Partly to make sure nothing was wrong with him and partly because they felt they could no longer really trust Fiona. Things were worse than either of the boys had thought they soon discovered when Lip had begun to go through the old bills. It was a miracle they still had heat and hadn’t been evicted at this point that’s how far behind they were.

There was next to nothing in the house in the way of food or supplies so Ian was back to giving what he could cough up and Lip was stealing from his job in the cafeteria to feed their family. Ian wouldn’t say anything, not to anyone, but he’d caught Mickey tucking a couple of extra twenties into Ian’s wallet when he thought no one was looking. He didn’t mention it, so the younger boy let it lie but that didn’t stop him from kissing Mickey like the hero that he was when the brunette least expected it.

Carl and Debbie helped when they could but they were still kids and they were still legally under Fiona’s and Frank’s care. A worrisome thing now that Carl seemed to keep getting into trouble at school and Debbie was running with the wrong crowd. Ian couldn’t help but wonder how things had fallen so fucking fast. He used to be the fuck up in the family with his Juvie record and bipolar disorder and now he was the stable steady one with a job, a boyfriend and a distinct lack of substance abuse.

Liam had had a series of rough nights filled with nightmares he couldn’t explain and since it was Ian’s day off he’d volunteered to watch him for the day before trading him over to Lip in the evening. Shifts. That’s how they were going to take care of their little brother: shifts. So now Liam was napping on the Milkovich couch while his big brother helped his boyfriend avoid felony charges. 

“You think he’ll be alright?” Ian asked, subdued as flicked the loose ash off of his cigarette, his green eyes trained on Mickey’s left elbow.

Mickey paused in his filing efforts and looked up. “I think he’s a Gallagher,” Mickey said bluntly, “and I think you fuckers have a way of pulling through shit.”

Ian nodded but he didn’t say anything, fighting the urge to tear up at how fucked things had gotten. He wasn’t sad for himself, not really, but his whole family was crumbling and he couldn’t do anything, not really, except watch it fall apart. Maybe he could salvage some pieces at the end of the day but for right now that wasn’t possible. He took a deep breath to steady himself and another hurried drag from his cigarette.

“Ian,” Mickey said, reaching out his hand to grip Ian’s in his own, “he’s got you. He’s fine.”

Right now Ian sat with one hand holding Mickey and the other hand clutching a lit cigarette. There was a metaphor for his life in there somewhere but he didn’t care to examine it enough to find out what it was. The clinic shrink would probably want him to try to find the relationship between death and choices, life and acceptance, but he honestly couldn’t care less right now. He had actual problems to deal with.

“Well now I know he’s fucked,” Ian said with a watery laugh but he felt better. He held on to Mickey’s hand tight, refusing to let go as he looked at Mickey with utter gratitude in his expression. He couldn’t talk about any of this with his family. Fiona was having a mini-Frank crisis and couldn’t seem to realize what she’d done. Lip was busy trying to clean up Fiona’s mess while dealing with actually having to work at school. Debbie couldn’t even make real friends let alone handle her mentally ill brother’s worries and Carl needed boundaries and stability more so than ever now that things were falling apart. 

Mickey didn’t pull away from Ian, just briefly squeezed the pale boy’s larger hand, providing an anchor to all of the chaos and shit that seemed to follow the Gallaghers where ever they went. Ian lightly ran his thumb over Mickey’s tattooed knuckles wondering how he’d gotten so lucky to have found a person who saw him. Really saw him, and still wanted to be with him anyway.

After a long moment, Mickey withdrew his hand and resumed his filing. “Tony said that Marco bit the big one so our cut just increased by 10% each. Maybe 20 if Zach pussies out.”

“What the hell happened?” Ian asked with raised eyebrows, his expression one of mild disbelief. Marco had been one of the best drug and gun runners this side of the Mason Dixie line. No one seemed to be able to pin anything on him or collect the bounty on his head. And the bounties certainly were generous enough from various cartels and law enforcement agencies. Ian ground the butt of his cigarette onto the top on an empty beer can while watching Mickey, preparing for an epic tale of gunfights and last words to ring through the winds of history.

“Prostitute knifed him if you can believe it,” Mickey replied, then blew off the metal shavings and did a second check of the gun he was currently working on.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Ian said as he took the metal file from Mickey and began doing a once over on the guns Mickey had previously inspected. A careful criminal was a smart criminal and a smart criminal didn’t get caught. Which is why they double checked each other’s work to make sure neither of them would end up in the can. “You’re telling me that the guy Marcettii couldn’t put a bullet in somehow got taken out by a prostitute? Who told you this crap? Tony? I bet it was Tony.”

“Shut up,” Mickey laughed, “it’s what happened. Diego saw it go down, man.”

“Bullshit,” Ian snarked back, “that’s got to be complete and utter bullshit. Diego’s high most of the time, he probably thought a fairy used her magic wand on him.”

“Morning dorks,” Mandy half yawned as she came out of her room and walked down the hallway to the bathroom. She was dressed in an overly large t-shirt, some boxers she must have stolen from Lip ages ago, and a dark beanie. She didn’t even pause as she passed them and their arsenal of weapons. 

“Mandy,” Mickey half-yelled at his sister even though she was in the bathroom. “Tell Ian about Marco.”

“Mandy,” Ian called, “Tell your brother that I can smell the bullshit from here.”

“Jesus Christ,” Mandy yelled through the closed door, annoyance sinking into her words, “can’t a girl shit in peace around here?”

“Mandy,” Ian and Mickey both continued to call, both of them smirking like the shit head brothers they were, “Mandy, Mandy, Mandy.”

“Fuckers,” Mandy yelled, slamming the bathroom door opened, causing both of the boys to laugh. “Yuck it up you shitheads.”

“Aww, come on Mands,” Ian cajoled but his shit eating grin gave away any good intentions he might have had. He unloaded the round currently in that AK-47 and put the gun in the steadily growing “done” pile. 

Mandy rolled her eyes and went about starting a pot of coffee muttering about her shit head brother and best friend. Then she turned to face Ian and smirked, “So you wanna hear about the hooker that did in Marco.”

“I’m calling bullshit,” Ian replied.

“And I’m calling you stupid,” Mickey commented, double checking their inventory. Ian just sent a look Mickey’s way before turning his attention back to his best friend.

“So the way I hear it went down,” Mandy began, coming over to sit at the head of the table and stealing one of Ian’s cigarettes, “was that Marco was cruising for some tail. But he really should have checked who he was sticking his dick in cause it turns out the girl he picked up had a few more secrets than she did STDs. She goes by the name Sparkle and it turns out Sparkle had a brother that got caught in-between Marco and his associates during a deal gone south. Took one too many bullets in the gut and got dumped in the gutter. Typical South Side sob story. So she got him into the motel room, got him all hard and ready and then stabbed Marco right in the heart.”

“Now that’s some psycho shit right there,” Mickey pointed out.

“Who you hear this from?” Ian asked, his speculation still caked on thicker than a hooker’s work make up.

“Sparkle herself,” Mandy said with a knowing smirk, “Real name’s Sandra Jacobs.”

Ian paused for a moment and then said, with utter seriousness and an earnest expression, “You need better friends.”

“Fuck you,” Mandy countered with a disbelieving laugh, kicking Ian’s thigh hard enough that he gave a pained chuckle. Then all three of them were laughing and it was like a safety valve was finally released, letting out some of the pressure that had been building these past couple of weeks. And for a moment, just one moment, with the sunlight streaming in on a sleeping child and his laughing minders, it seemed like everything would be all right.


	32. Finding Fiona

Ian was half asleep when Mickey started to kiss his neck, traced the freckles down to his chest, and began to slowly place open wet kisses on the way down his chest. It was such a pleasant warm sensation that Ian was tempted to purr his satisfaction as Mickey’s mouth found it’s prize. There couldn’t be a better way to wake up in the morning Ian decided with utter certainty as Mickey’s hands spread his freckled thighs wider. 

Mickey was licking and sucking on the younger boy’s dick and Ian couldn’t help but watch the dark haired man’s head bob up and down with a lazy purpose. There was a certain dedication but also a willingness to continue this all day if necessary that drove Ian wild. His hands quickly found themselves digging into Mickey’s dark hair, gripping with a fierce possession, and Mickey somehow managed to smirk up at him with a dick lodged down his throat. 

Ian was quite enjoying his morning wake up call when his phone started to ring. For one irrational moment he almost picked it up and threw it at the wall with all his strength. But he didn’t, mostly because Mickey had squeezed his balls in a pleasant grip right at that moment.

“Don’t answer it,” Mickey said, as he let Ian slip out of his mouth. Ian didn’t even bother to stop his whine or the slight jerk of his hips as his dick tried to follow Mickey’s warm mouth.

“Might be work,” Ian half groaned and grabbed his phone from the shelf beside Mickey’s bed, silently cursing whoever thought to interrupt the boys' wake up routine. He couldn’t contain his surprise when he saw who was calling. “Debbie?” he asked in confusion.

Mickey kissed his way up Ian’s chest while the younger boy absent mindedly played with the brunette's hair. 

“What do you mean she didn’t come home?” Ian demanded, feeling his good mode disappearing rapidly. Debbie continued to explain the situation and Ian wanted to scream at the stupidity that seemed to be an inherent trait in the Gallagher genetic code. 

“Yeah, I’ll call,” Ian said, biting back the irritation he was feeling at Fiona fucking up again, and he dragged Mickey closer to him, tugging on the older boy’s hair with a little more force than necessary. “What’s the dude’s name again? Robbie?” Once hearing the confirmation Ian made sure to say, “Go to school alright. Lip and I will take care of this, but you need to make sure to get to class. Do you need me to drive you?”

Debbie appeared to answer in the negative before extracting an affirmation that Ian would do his brotherly duty of attempting to find Fiona. As soon as he hung up the phone he saw he had a text from Lip, informing him of the game plan. Ian typed a quick reply before throwing his phone back onto the shelf, turning his attention back to Mickey, pretending to be druggie’s long lost friend could wait another ten minutes or so.

“This Robbie guy, should I be jealous?” Mickey teased, attempting to bring some humor to the situation.

Ian just gave him a look before shutting up his boyfriend by shoving his tongue down the brunette's throat. Mickey did not object.

\-------

Ian hadn’t wanted Debbie to come to the druggie brother’s apartment but she had insisted, seemingly taking on finding another wayward member of her family as her ultimate mission. Maybe because this was something she was used to with Frank and Monica, something she could almost control, unlike the other woe of her young teenage life.

Mickey had forced Ian to take at least a knife, saying that coke heads sometimes didn’t have the good sense to lay down and stay down when hit so sometimes you had to make ‘em bleed a little. Ian had rolled his eyes but had taken the sharp serrated blade and tucked it into his pants. He didn’t want to use it, had refused to use any shivs in juvie preferring to practice his hand to hand combat technique on less skilled individuals, but he might just have to stab the man who answered the door on principle.

He was the kind of asshole Ian imaged Frank was like twenty years ago, looking groggy as he came down from both a high and the residual effects of alcohol abuse. He looked at Ian and Debbie like there were some bizarre creatures come from another planet and he didn’t understand the language they spoke. Ian subconsciously moved to place himself between this unstable individual and his little sister but Debbie wasn’t having any of it.

“Is Fiona here?” Debbie demanded, stepping forward. She was hard and fearless, a warrior in a child’s body, and Ian had never felt more sorrowfully proud then he did at that moment. Because his sister was strong and because he wished that she didn’t have to be.

“Who?” Robbie replied, confused and not stable on his feet.

“Fiona,” Debbie yelled into the apartment, shoving past the useless male in her way, “Fiona, are you here?”

Robbie was clutching his head as if he could somehow suppress his headache that way and he tried to shush Debbie to no avail. Ian was tense and ready to launch himself at this privileged asshole if he so much as blinked in the wrong direction at Debbie.

“These are her shoes,” Debbie exclaimed, gathering up the worn items, “And her coat. Where is she?”

“Road trip maybe,” Robbie replied, “I don’t know.”

“Stay away from her,” Debbie commanded, a wildfire contained inside her being as she ordered this mere mortal to do her bidding.

“Whatever you say kid,” the man replied, unknowing of the power that stood before him. The young woman just sniffed in disdain at Robbie and gave him one last full body glance before turning away from him in disgust. She marched off but Ian lingered behind.

“So where’d you get your shit?” Ian asked, his voice oddly level for the amount of seething rage he was feeling. But he knew the rage was just another cover to keep from feeling the abandonment of Fiona taking off like this.

“What?” the older man replied, obviously confused that Ian was still there, standing in his open doorway. With no bravado of a drug high or the power of his family’s money on hand to rescue him, he was just a man who lacked a spine and conviction. He wouldn’t last three days on the inside, Ian absently reflected, not unless he offered his ass up to someone.

“You heard me. Where. Did. You. Get. Your. Shit.” Ian articulated, speaking slowly as if the man were touched in the head.

“Why? You want some?” Robbie asked, perking up slightly. 

Ian just gave him a look that conveyed that he was not amused and that the older man better start answering his question soon or else there would be painful, painful consequences. 

“Guy said his name was Dillon Sachez,” Robbie answered and Ian nodded before heading out. 

“You’re not going to find him,” Robbie called down the hall after the red head, “It’s a fake name.” Ian just raised his middle finger in reply and disappeared down the dark stairs.

After dropping Debbie off at the house, Ian dialed a number he hadn’t used in a long time.

“Hey Jerome, it’s Ian. I was wondering if we could talk,” Ian asked, as he sat outside the Milkovich house smoking a cigarette. Jerome was one of Andy’s old friends who occasionally stopped by the store to deliver news and buy exactly three airheads, one raspberry, one blue, and one mystery flavor. He also went, among other names, by Dillon Sachez.

“Yeah Red,” came the gravelly voice of a man who had barely been awake for an hour and was currently on his first cup of coffee. Jerome worked best at night and waking up in the afternoon was like getting up at 5am to most people.

“So you know that North Side prick, Robbie, you’ve been selling to? The cup guy?” Ian asked.

“Yeah,” Jerome replied, “He a friend of yours? Cause I won’t stop selling to him but I can maybe give him a discount on some smack.”

“No, he’s not a friend,” Ian replied, snorting in derision, “whatever you’re giving him I want you to cut it with whatever will fuck him up the most. I want his insides bleeding and his worst nightmares about him fucking his mama to come to life in his head. Man hurt one of my family. Bad. You understand.”

There was silence on the other end for a long moment and then the words, “I’ll take care of it,” and then a deadline. Ian exhaled the last of his smoke and tried not to think about what that stunt would cost him down the line, but he’d rather get rid of this problem now before it crept further into their lives. It was like an invasive plant species, the only way to beat it was to burn it to the root. 

As Ian sat outside his Milkovich home he wished he was made of fire not realizing that’s exactly what his spirit was made of. That he drew Mickey to him with his warmth and the light of who he was.

And so he sat outside, blazing with his internal fire, that he could not see but that those around him always could.


	33. A Life Lesson from a Milkovich

In the way that all stories are written, the hero faces challenges and seemingly insurmountable odds, before somehow prevailing and succeeding in their mission or quest. Or at least that’s how many of the tales with actual heroes are written, but right now Ian wasn't sure if such heroes existed in real life. The ones who have their trails, yes, but are then able to continue on their regular existence with only a few scars. The people who were somehow whole after being stretched and tried couldn't really exist, or if they did they sure as hell didn't live in his neighborhood. Because right now Ian was being stretched, like a piece of sun heated candy, and he could feel himself begin to tear.

With Fiona back in jail the Gallagher children were once more scrambling to survive and Ian found himself thinking about when he was ten and Frank and Monica had both taken off for a month. It had been the first time they had been gone for so long and the kids had been forced to fend for themselves. He had never been so cold, so hungry, or so desperate as he had been in that month but he also hadn’t been as filled with a strange type of jaded despair that he was now experiencing. Usually he could swallow the feeling, ignore it while he handled the problem and then eventually it would go away, sinking into his system and becoming so diluted it was like it had never existed in the first place. A bad headache that eventually went away.

Now though, now he was struggling not to cry. The doc at the clinic had told him to avoid stressful situations as best he could because high levels of stress could exasperate his mental health problems. He had wanted to laugh in the poor woman’s face because the only way to avoid stress around here was to die. Avoid stress she said, try to keep calm she said, the doc might as well have been asking for the moon when she had made her suggestions. She might as well have said "stay away from your family and anyone breathing" for all the good her advice would do. If only Ian's family could have gotten the mental health memo as well before deciding that since Frank was too sick to fuck things up, someone else should fill in. Fiona being locked up fit the bill and it wasn’t helping anyone but it made Ian seriously consider emancipating himself in order to be eligible for some state programs like Medicaid in order to actually afford his medication. It would also mean, if worse came to worse, he might be able to step in and protect his siblings if the state came a'calling. 

Instead of giving into his darker emotions, he just rubbed his head in resignation and set his shoulders to handle the problems at hand. Like the fact that the creepy twenty year old was still hanging around Debbie. There had got to be better ways for that man to be spending his time rather than hanging around young underage girls. It didn’t matter that Debbie was the one who was actively pursuing part of the relationship, it was the adult’s responsibility to back the fuck off. Mickey had agreed that this Matty character needed a beat down real quick and was actually surprised Ian hadn’t done it sooner.

However, the fact that Matty needed a lesson with the instructor being violence seemed to be all that they could agree on. Mickey thought a pounding with either brass knuckles or nightsticks with a final threat of a gun to the head was the way to go, while Ian was convinced that a good old baseball bat to the knee was the way to solve this particular problem. He wanted him hurt, not maimed or killed. Mickey didn't see the last two as that big of a problem, or a problem at all if truth be told. 

“I don’t see why you can’t just use the gun,” Mickey argued as he and Ian entered into the Gallagher house one evening, the cold air slipping in past their jackets. It wasn't that late but already the darkness of the night was painted over the streets. The boys moved like figures escaping one painting in order to steal color from some other landscape.

“Because I don’t want a felony charge Mick,” Ian replied for what felt like the seventh time and rolled his eyes. 

Before Mickey could respond they both noticed a larger gaggle of kids than usual crammed into the Gallagher family kitchen, complete with some Asian chick in glasses and two Leave It To Beaver wannabe parental figures. Lip was seated with his back to his brother and he seemed to be finishing up explaining why Fiona was in jail and not at this weird meet the parents dinner.

“And who the fuck are you?” Mickey asked, pointing at the interlopers, asking what Ian was thinking. The dark haired boy's eyebrows were raised as he looked the newcomers over, assessing their threat level.

“Who’s that?” Lip asked in that classic calm and condescending way of his as he turned to see who else was in the house. Seeing the boys with their hostile aura and closed expressions Lip just grinned and turned to the suburban parents and said, “The red head’s my younger brother Ian but his nickname is Gang-Fight Gallagher. He just recently got out of Juvie for the second time now. First time he was in there was for being an accomplice to grand theft auto, and the second time was for aggravated assault. The angry looking punk standing next to my brother, the one with the Fuck U-Up tattoos on his knuckles there, is Mickey "Mad Dog" Milkovich. He also just recently got out of Juvie. First time he was in was for theft, ended up getting shot for it too, and the second time was also for aggravated assault.”

The parents looked positively ill.

Mickey and Ian just looked at each other and silently agreed that Lip would be getting some laxative in his coffee at some point in the near future. Whatever stunt he was pulling for the new girl was his own business, but that did not mean that he got to drag Mickey and Ian into whatever scam he was pulling. The boys had far more important things to do with their time then plays scary hood monster to some suburbanites. 

“Ian, Mickey,” Lip continued, “These are Amanda’s parents. Say hello.”

Ian just gave a “are you fucking kidding me” look to Lip before briefly acknowledging the out of place upper class individuals with a short, “Hi.” Then he turned his attention back to his older brother and asked, “Do you know where Fiona hid the bat?”

“Can’t we just use the gun?” Mickey half huffed in the background, rolling his eyes at Ian’s obsession with the stupid bat.

Ian and Lip ignored him. 

“No clue,” Lip replied, “Fiona ransacked the house for weapons before the first home visit with her PO. Ask Carl, he might have managed to keep some things hidden without Fiona finding them.”

“Thanks,” Ian said with no real inflection and then went upstairs, Mickey at his heels. 

Turned out that Carl did in-fact know where the baseball bat was. He had hidden it in Fiona’s room, under one of the loose floorboards beneath her bed, and covered it with dirty clothes. Clever little shit, Ian couldn’t help but think with a grin as Carl handed over the bat with unmistakable pride in his stance. Ian ruffled his little brother’s hair and thanked him.

“You going to hurt someone?” Carl asked, his interest in the possible use of a weapon plain in his voice.

“Maybe,” Ian shrugged, “Depends on how much the guy wants to be hurt.”

“What do you mean?” Carl asked, his brows drawn together in confusion.

“It means that if the guy listens to reason,” Mickey explained with the practiced air of someone who had given this lecture many times before, “then we’ll be reasonable. But if he thinks he knows better, thinks we’re bluffing or that he isn’t wrong? Well then, sometimes you got to use a little pain to drive the point home. Sometimes you really just have to pound it through their thick skull.”

“Cool,” Carl replied, grinning up at Mickey with an almost hero worship look in his eye, before he scampered off to play with his girlfriend.

“I’m bringing the gun,” Mickey said after Carl was out of the room.

“You’re not bringing the fucking gun Mickey,” Ian replied, resting the bat against his shoulder as they made their way downstairs.

“You bring your big boy bat and I’ll bring my gun and we’ll see which one works better,” Mickey shot back as he and his boyfriend entered into the kitchen.

“We don’t need a fucking gun,” Ian exclaimed, slowly breathing out as he tried to keep his calm. His red hair stuck out every which way from him tugging on it so much and he ran his hand through his red mess once again as he tried to keep his boyfriend out of federal prison. 

“Whatever you say tough guy,” Mickey replied lightly, obviously not buying into Ian’s reasoning. The gun was going, no ifs, ands or buts about it.

“Don’t commit any crimes you can be pinned for,” Lip called out to them as they headed out the door. Both Ian and Mickey casually flipped him off without even looking back, as they continued to bicker into the chilly night. 

"We don't need a fucking gun," Ian tried to reason, his voice carrying back into the Gallagher house even though it was fainter then it had been.

"You know what, the last time you said that we ended up needing a fucking gun," Mickey began.

"Not the stupid Joey incident," Ian interrupted groaning, "That was one time!"

"One time where you nearly got your skull bashed in and I nearly got kneecapped. And you said," Mickey continued, speaking louder over Ian's protests, "and you said, and I quote, "We don't need a gun, we'll be fine. We can handle ourselves." And what ended up happening? Huh, tough guy? We ended up needing a fucking gun. And it was only because Lugi dropped his that we managed to get out there with our balls intact and our cut. So pardon me if I don't think you're the best judge of when to bring a weapon. We're bringing the fucking gun."

"The guy probably weighs like 50 pounds when wet," Ian protested, "He'll piss himself long before we would even need to use a gun."

"That a bet?" Mickey asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ian rolled his eyes but nodded and said, "Fine, it's a fucking bet. But keep the damn piece hidden until absolutely necessary okay?"

Now it was Mickey's turn to roll his eyes, "I'm not a fucking idiot Ian." The red head just nudged his boyfriend's shoulder with his and resisted the urge to groan. 

In the end, Ian did end up winning that bet.


	34. Tickle Fight

Ian lay awake in Mickey’s twin bed, stretched out on his back with his right hand under his head and Mickey nestled into his left side, his face mushed against Ian’s chest, his steady moist breaths ruffling Ian’s sparse fair chest hair, and a pale arm was thrown over Ian’s waist. Ian’s other arm was comfortably wrapped around the older boy, holding him closer and tighter, as if he could ensure that he would never leave the red head’s side. He needn’t have worried, Mickey wasn’t going anywhere. 

The early morning sunlight filtered in through Mickey’s blinds, sending odd shadows and patches of light throughout the messy room, illuminating dirty laundry here and casting a dead stuffed owl into shadow. Ian took the time to admire his sleeping companion, his face utterly relaxed as he dreamed of far off places and adventures. Sometimes Ian liked to pretend he could share his dreams with Mickey. That when they shared a pillow, their arms wrapped around each other so frightfully tight they almost broke bones, that they could actually seep into each other’s minds. What Ian wouldn’t give to actually see what Mickey was thinking.

He could feel Mickey’s breathing change and knew that the older boy was waking up but neither of them stirred from their places, far too comfortable to move. Mickey burrowed even closer, as if he could somehow crack open Ian’s chest and nestle in between his lungs, protected from the rest of the world inside his lover’s ribcage. Instead, he just listened to Ian’s steady heartbeat, a firm reminder that the person he would take a bullet for was here, and alive, and well. 

Ian felt his lips quirk as his boyfriend pretended to sleep but Ian wasn’t going to divest him of his illusions. Instead, Ian gently ran his fingertips up and down Mickey’s back, finding the occasional stray freckle, and tracing a wandering path to the next freckle his long fingers could find. His fingers found a patch of skin right below Mickey’s armpit and all of a sudden Mickey gave a little shiver and a small laugh.

“Come on man,” Mickey said with a sleepy grin, shrugging his shoulder just hard enough to jostle Ian’s movement but not enough to make him stop touching him.

Ian paused but his face lit up with this sudden, secret revelation. “You’re fucking ticklish?” he asked in utter delight.

“Fuck off,” Mickey groaned, hiding his face in Ian’s chest, but Ian would not be dissuaded. He proceeded to test this new found tickling spot with a gentle brush of his fingers.

“Knock it off,” Mickey laughed and gave a half hearted swat at Ian’s hand. He missed and Ian tested his new found knowledge again.

“Fucker,” Mickey laughed harder as Ian dug into his side. In retaliation Mickey lightly bit one of Ian’s nipples, only easing up when Ian gave a pained hiss. Mickey licked the offended nipple in question apologetically and looked up from beneath his lashes at Ian. The younger boy seemed to be weighing his options and Mickey could pin the exact moment when the redhead simply decided “Fuck it.” Unfortunately, Mickey couldn’t react fast enough as he was flipped and pinned down to the bed. 

Ian moved with a vicious precision to attack Mickey’s vulnerable spots and soon Mickey was laughing so hard he was nearly crying. He bucked his hips, trying to dislodge Ian and gain the upper-hand to no avail. Ian’s ecstatic smirk drove Mickey mad and instead of trying to throw the younger boy off he decided on another tactic. He grabbed Ian by the back of his head and dragged him down for a long vicious kiss. 

It worked like a charm, instead of trying to make Mickey pee his pants through laughter, Ian was now completely focused on devouring his boyfriend. He ground himself against Mickey’s cock, groaning in pleasure as he felt himself harden. Mickey reached down to grab Ian’s ass, dragging him closer and rubbing his bare asshole against Ian’s dick. The younger boy nearly wanted to weep it felt so good.

It didn't take long to prep Mickey and when Ian finally entered into the pale boy, they both let out a groan of pure satisfaction. Ian bucked his hips with a fierce purpose, moving with speed and passion as if he could somehow disappear inside of Mickey dick first. 

“You wanna fuck me?” Mickey hissed into Ian’s ear, biting down on Ian’s earlobe briefly, causing the younger boy to groan, “You wanna fuck me good and hard?”

Ian picked up his pace and sucked a quick hickey onto his lover’s pale neck before groaning through heavy breathes, “Gonna fuck you. Gonna fuck you so you can’t move. Gonna--gonna feel me for days.”

Mickey groaned at Ian’s words and locked his legs around the freckled waist, dragging his down further into him as he pressed his heels into Ian’s pale ass cheeks. “You better,” he groaned and then Ian was hitting that special spot and his vision refused to behave after that.

It was rough and vicious as they marked each other with digging fingernails leaving small wounds, gripping fingers that left lingering bruises, and hickies on necks and across chests that proudly proclaimed a possessive type of ownership of the heart. By the end of it, it looked more like the boys had been in some sort of a fight rather than a morning fuck. 

Ian lay with his head on Mickey’s chest, dragging air into his lungs as he felt his boyfriend do the same.

“Feel better now?” Mickey asked with a huffed laugh, his fingers running through Ian’s hair.

Ian just let out a satisfied groan of agreement and leaned into Mickey’s touch, practically purring as the older boy played with his hair. Maybe he’d been a cat in a past life, Ian mused, as he lay in a sunlight bed being pet. Mickey was talking about their upcoming shifts at the Kash-and-Grab and how Paco had been sniffing around, seeing if there were interested in whatever shady ass deal he had going on the side. 

Ian would normally be content to listen to the sound of Mickey’s voice but today he leaned up and gave Mickey a slow and gentle kiss. When he pulled away Mickey smiled at him but his eyes were lightly questioning. Ian looked into those blue eyes that always seemed to pick up on things others missed and said, with all the simple honesty of a heart cracked open, “I love you.”

Mickey flushed and his eyes darted to the side before looking back at Ian. The younger boy simply waited. Then Mickey pulled Ian up to him and gave him a deep and deliberate kiss before pulling him into an embrace. Ian didn’t need the words, not really, they would have been nice but Mickey constantly shouted what he felt in his actions. It was impossible not to know how he felt when he showed it everyday. 

Just when Ian was accepting that the hug would be the end of the conversation, Mickey whispered gruffly into Ian’s ear, “Love you too,” and then buried his face in Ian’s neck. 

Ian’s smile could have powered all of Chicago for a solid month.


	35. Moving On

“I think you should come back home.”

The words were spoken one morning as Ian sat at the Gallagher kitchen table checking over Carl and Debbie’s homework as he waited for his siblings to get ready for school. They had skipped a few days so Ian had taken it upon himself to make sure his siblings actually got onto the garish yellow school bus paid for by the lovely taxpayers of Chicago. Carl had taken Bonnie leaving hard and Debbie forever seemed to be struggling with the dueling realities that she was both a child and yet expected to act like an adult, so both kids were left to lash out with no one there to give them some stability. Which is where Ian stepped in. Ian didn’t care if it embarrassed his brother and sister, he wanted them to at least know that they had one person watching out for them, not just for when shit hit the fan, but for the little things as well.

Fiona had been released early from prison due to overcrowding and miraculously passing a drug test, which led to her being absorbed into the system of probation workers everywhere. Her case worker had apparently hooked her up with a job, which everyone in the family was grateful for the extra income no matter how sporadic the tips might be, and a sponsor for Fiona’s apparent drug habit and self-destructive behaviors. She might pull through the program, show that a Gallagher could change once they’d set the cycle for fuck ups in motion. She might pull it off. Maybe. But Ian was reserving his judgement on this one. Too much life experience or some shit.

Yet due to her being in group therapy now she felt the need to try to rearrange everyone elses lives, not just her own. She'd gone through and confiscated Carl’s porn mags and his stash of throwing stars and restricted Debbie’s phone access, all in the name of the cause of cleaner, better living. Needless to say, she hadn’t been making any allies of her younger siblings. It had only been a matter of time before she moved on to Ian.

“Did you hear me? I said I think you should come home,” Fiona said again, pouring herself a cup of coffee as she watched her brother make a careful correction on Carl’s math homework before sliding the piece of graph paper into the battered 15 cent folder. 

“I heard you,” Ian said, his voice calm and polite as he did a quick read through of Debbie’s essay on Sojourner Truth. His meds were barely kicking into his system and he didn’t want to fight with his sister, but he had a feeling that a fight is what he was going to get this morning.

“I think it would be good for the family, all of us together again,” Fiona was explaining, her voice full of desperate sure fired optimism. Ian finished skimming the essay before returning it to Debbie’s backpack. He glanced forlornly at his near empty cup of coffee, wishing that he could have more but the doc has said to take it easy with stimulants with his new dosage of meds and the addition of an anti-anxiety med to his chemical cocktail. 

Ian decided to cut off Fiona’s ramblings that were getting progressively idyllic and said, “I heard you, I thought you were joking.”

“Ian,” Fiona said in that taken aback offended way of her’s, as if completely baffled and offended that her younger siblings wouldn’t want to come back to live in the house he helped pay rent for. Nevermind the fact that it would mean sharing a bedroom with Carl and Liam, attempting to hide his pills from Frank, no Mandy to tease and laugh with and no Mickey beside him. He was fine where he was, thank-you very much. 

“I help with rent, I pitch in for groceries, I watch Liam and I make sure Carl and Debbie actually go to school. I don’t see what more you could want,” Ian replied, gathering the kid’s sacked lunches from the fridge and putting them into the select backpacks. Even if they didn’t eat what he’d made, they could always trade it with some other kid. 

“What I want is for us to be a family,” Fiona began, “Look, I know I made some mistakes--”

“Oh, so you nearly killing Liam was a mistake?” Ian asked, unable to bite back his sarcasm this early in the morning, “See, and here I was thinking that was a fuck up. Combine that with the fact that you broke probation after less than a month with the guy who gave you the coke in the first place, and all of a sudden you want to come back in here and act like Suzy homemaker?” 

Fiona was doing that wounded deer look, clearly not expecting an attack this early in the morning. Well tough shit, Lip had already gotten his yelling match out of the way with Fiona and now it was Ian’s turn. Maybe it wasn’t fair, maybe it was kicking the dog when it was down, or maybe it was just a frustrated brother finally talking back.

“Jesus Christ Ian, I’m trying,” Fiona protested, her eyes suspiciously wet as she looked at her little brother who now towered over her. He looked at her with a strange mix of pity and support, but also resignation in that distant way he’d perfected after months and months in lockdown. 

“Try with someone else,” Ian finally said before yelling up the stairs, “Debbie, Carl, school!”

There was a blur of young teenage bodies running down the stairs, pulling on shoes, grabbing the backpacks and the banana with toast, before hurriedly yelling bye as they rushed out of the house, Ian hot on their tails with forgotten scarves. Which left Fiona with an empty house and an empty sinking feeling in her chest as she recalled how Ian had just stared at her, looked at her like she was some fucked up stranger who had just wandered into their lives for the pure purpose of destruction. 

She wasn’t that person, she wasn’t Frank or Monica or even Robbie. She had dropped out of school to take care of her siblings, she had gotten her GED, she had fought tooth and nail for this family, and she did one stupid stupid thing. And now what? She was a pariah in her own home? Her little brother wouldn’t even entertain the idea of moving back in. He’d rather stay over at the Milkoviches, _the Milkoviches,_ rather than with his own family. He hung out with known drug dealers, helped in trafficking illegal arms, and thought Mickey Milkovich was a good fit and yet he had the audacity to think she was a bad guardian? 

Fiona took a deep breath and pulled herself together, gathering some of the stray laundry from around the house and putting it into a cracking laundry basket. She could do this. She had handled worse circumstances and she was still standing, they were all still standing, maybe a little worse for wear but they were still here, still standing. She refused to look back. Her sober sponsor was always talking about looking to the future, setting goals, so that’s what she’d do. She’d start with laundry, then move on to making rent for the month, maybe putting some away in savings, and maybe, somewhere in all of that, she could piece her family back together. Maybe. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Ian had been quite at work which, while not unusual, was fairly rare. Normally he liked to talk, had always really liked to talk, after he’d found, perhaps for the first time, a willing and captivated audience in Mickey. They’d talk about anything and everything, from Mandy’s job to which superhero would win in a battle between Superman v. Batman (the winner was obviously Superman), yet today Ian was oddly quiet and distracted.

When they took their smoke break, both boys sat on upturned milk-crates sucking in the noxious smoke as the cold tried to creep in under their coats. 

“What’s eating you?” Mickey asked, breathing out a cloud of grey.

“Hmm?” Ian replied, his cigarette dangling from his fingertips, “Oh, nothing.”

“Bullshit,” Mickey snorted, “Something’s bothering you.” The brunette watched the red head mull over his thoughts, those green eyes distant and turned inward, and the blue eyed boy just waited.

“Do you ever think,” Ian began slowly, still not looking at Mickey but down the dirty alley, “of moving out? Maybe getting our own place? You know, somewhere with a lock on the door and our names on the lease? Someplace where we’d have the keys to, only us.”

“You mean like an apartment?” Mickey asked, curious as to where Ian’s thoughts were going.

“Yeah, like an apartment,” Ian replied, “You know, just the two of us.”

“Just you and me? Just like that? Move the hell of this shithole and be like real people or something?” Mickey asked, his voice bright and brash as he just stared in wonder at Ian.

“Yes, Jesus, Mick, it’s not the weirdest thing in the world,” Ian huffed, irritated, thinking Mickey was making fun of him.

“And in this world of yours where you and I move away and apparently achieve the South Side version of a happily ever after,” Mickey continued, bouncing his knee, “do you still suck my dick?”

Ian just glared at Mickey before snorting and said, “You keep laughing at me and I won’t blow you anymore.”

“Aww come one man, why you gotta be like that?” Mickey asked, but he was smiling. Smiling for some strange reason and smoking his cigarette through upturned lips.

“So when're we moving?” Mickey asked, a change in his voice.

“Wait,” Ian said, turning his whole body to look at Mickey, like he needed every physical point of attention to be focused on his lover, “You serious?”

“Yeah man,” Mickey said with a grin, “You, me, a door with locks. Sounds like fucking paradise.”

And Mickey was just sitting there on that upturned milk carton with that wonderful grin of his, looking at Ian with all his armor cast off, just being a teenager for once. A very handsome teenager who somehow managed to take Ian’s breath away even though he wasn’t fifteen anymore.

“I want to suck your dick,” Ian said, completely serious, because what he was really saying was _Yes, let’s do it, let’s move, today, right now, let’s go away and never come back,_ and _I love you, I love you so much I would burn the world down just to keep you warm._

And Mickey’s grin just grew wider.


	36. And That Concludes Our South Side Broadcast

It took them a little over a month to find a place that they could afford and that was close to the L so that they could still work for Linda and see their families when they wanted to, or when there was, inevitably, a crisis they would have to deal with. It was actually near the center of downtown, some studio apartment building that was being renovated and the owner just wanted someone who was willing to pay in cash even if it was far below fair market value. So it maybe a bit shady, what else was new, but they had a legit lease that had been signed and notarized and everything. 

The apartment itself was decently sized, good for a couple just starting out or whatever those real estate agents always pitched when they were trying to unload a property. It was a one bedroom that they’d crammed a full size bed in with a second-hand dresser with a bottom drawer that couldn't properly close that was full of their clothes, all mixed together with no real order. The kitchen was narrow and sometimes Ian liked to press up against Mickey’s back while he was going the dishes, and Mickey would pretend to be annoyed but he couldn’t stop his smile and he never pushed Ian off, so Ian stayed plastered to his boyfriend, occasionally pressing kisses to his neck. Their living room had a fold out couch Mickey had snagged from one of his brothers and Mandy often crashed there when it go too late to be taking public transportation, or when she just wanted to hang around a little longer. They had a TV that was stolen, a nice TV that nearly took up the whole wall, and Lip had hooked them up to their hipsters neighbor’s cable. 

Sometimes Ian would wonder if they’d done the right thing. If taking off and getting out of that place was what was best when their families were still struggling everyday. Sure, things were better at the Gallagher household right now but that didn’t mean it would stay that way. Often it meant it wouldn’t stay that way. Mickey’s brothers couldn’t seem to stay out of trouble and he always seemed to swoop in to try and salvage a desperate situation. They both had family they couldn’t just leave and yet they had left anyway.

Sometimes Ian would just lie awake, those thoughts and doubts creeping into his mind, and then Mickey would roll over in their bed and bury himself into Ian side and just like that -poof- all the doubts disappeared. Mickey was magic in the way that he could center Ian, draw him back to the present. It wasn’t wrong to want to be happy. It wasn’t wrong to want to live with the person you loved and who loved you. It wasn’t wrong to carve out some small peace in this world. Ian refused to think it was wrong.

Mickey had a much more simple response to Ian’s spiral of doom. He’d just gestured between him and Ian one morning while they ate their eggs, saying “You. Me. It’s a good thing. Why fuck with it?” Ian couldn’t really think of a proper response to that besides kissing Mickey which had just made Mickey grin and preen like a peacock. Sometimes his boyfriend said the smartest things without even trying.

Fiona still dropped anvil sized hints about Ian moving back and every time Ian would just leave the conversation rather than start a fight. It wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t coming back, not now that he and Mickey were finally on their own without anyone to watch them. It always had felt like they’d been on borrowed time with people constantly looking for them. It it wasn’t one of the Gallaghers it was one of the Milkoviches, if it wasn’t one of them it was one of the guards in Juvie, if it wasn’t one of them it was the inmates, and so on and so forth until it felt like they were living in a fishbowl. But now that he and Mickey were on their own? It was like living in the fucking ocean and no way in hell was he giving that up.

He liked waking up butt naked curled around his sleeping boyfriend, his dick hard and nestled in between those beautiful pale ass checks. He liked being able to come up to Mickey and kiss him just because and not have his boyfriend be worried about someone like his father walking in on them, ready to kick their heads in. He liked playing video games and eating dinner and doing laundry and fighting over who had to make a late night run for milk. Dare he say it, he loved it. For the first time, in what felt like his entire life, he was actually living his own life. And his life included Mickey.

So if he started to dodge certain phone calls it was just the price he’d have to pay. Plus, his doc was always saying that he needed to reduce his stress. Being able to fuck Mickey long and hard, or slow and steady, without fear of interruption was perhaps the best stress reducer in the entire world. Best prescription ever in his opinion. Mickey would just roll his eyes when Ian would call him “my miracle medicine” but he secretly liked it. Ian knew because he couldn’t stop that smile of his from creeping onto his face whenever he called Mickey nicknames like that. Normally Mickey cornered the market on nicknames but Ian occasionally made a good show of it. 

Now it was Sunday and the sun was streaming in through the blinds, they really needed to invest in some curtains, the sunlight would be ridiculous in the summer time. Ian lay on top of Mickey's back, nuzzling his nose into Mickey’s neck and shoulders while casually running one of his hands through that beautiful dark hair. He occasionally kissed those pale shoulders and grinned when Mickey smiled even though his eyes were closed.

“Want breakfast?” Ian asked, his voice soft but light and gentle.

“Mmm, what kind of breakfast?” Mickey murmured, his face still half-smashed into their pillow. It was a joke that they had two pillows since they both ended up sharing one, still it meant that they always had a spare.

“A big breakfast,” Ian said, in between kissing the back of Mickey’s neck and his shoulders, “With bacon,” kiss, “and eggs,” a playful bite, “and pancakes.”

“Pancakes?” Mickey half-asked, still sleepy but so content it filled Ian’s heart with so much joy he thought he might stop breathing. 

“Banana pancakes,” Ian whispered into Mickey’s ear and was rewarded with a pleased groan. Ian grinned into the back of Mickey’s neck, feeling every shifting muscle of Mickey’s body as it awoke from beneath the red head.

Mickey reached up and grabbed a fist full of Ian’s bright hair and tugged him closer so that Mickey could give him a slow, half-awake kiss. Ian didn’t want to stop but Mickey playfully elbowed him declaring that he had to piss, leaving Ian to lay on his back, staring at the ceiling as he listened to Mickey putter around. 

He wondered if years and years from now it’d still be like this, that his heart would always feel this full around Mickey. Would he still feel this way fifty years down the line when Mickey was shitting himself and Ian was forgetting his own name? Probably, Ian couldn’t help but muse. They may not be legally married but they’d exchanged their vows of for better or worse, till death to us part long ago in the sounds of handcuffs and pill dispensers and freshly formed bruises showing up on pale skin. This was it for them. They were each others and nothing, not even age and disease, would change that.

“Hey Sleeping Beauty,” Mickey called, “I’ve got the bacon going, come make the pancakes.”

Ian grinned and slowly stretched, taking his time before he got up. The smell of bacon began to waif throughout the apartment and Mickey had turned on the radio and was badly singing along to some chorus of some song from the 1970s. In moments likes these, the small little moments that no one else would ever get to see, Ian felt the breath knocked out of him at how this was his life. This was his bed, with his boyfriend in their apartment, making their breakfast in their kitchen.

“Ian,” Mickey said from the doorway, leaning in the door-frame as he looked at his boyfriend with a raised eyebrow, his boxers slung low on his hips causing Ian’s gaze to drift over his lover's body.

“Coming,” Ian said, practically jumping out of bed. Mickey was almost always the best incentive to do anything as far as Ian was concerned. He slid past the shorter boy, purposefully pushing his body against Mickey’s and gave the older man a casual lingering kiss. Mickey just rolled his eyes and smacked Ian on the ass before they made their way to the kitchen.

“Come on champ,” Mickey said, his voice so full of familiar comfort and contentment it felt like a warm blanket enveloping Ian.

“Sure thing boss,” Ian playfully replied, making sure to flex his muscles as he reached for a mixing bowl and the pancake mix. His could feel Mickey’s appreciate stare and Ian couldn’t stop smiling, an unavoidable side effect of Sunday morning breakfast with Mickey.

And in this small corner of the world, in that bustling city with the rattle of L and the click of business men's shoes hitting the pavement and spare change being dropped into outstretched hands, two South Side men carved out a small space for themselves. They made a home and the melody of their joined lives matched perfectly with the harmony of that living breathing city that held them in the palm of it’s hands. Just two fucked up South Side kids who’d someone made it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank you all so much, for every kudo and comment, and the encouragement everyone gave me for this story. A special shout out to Shamelessfeelsandshit who managed to jump start the spark I needed to finish this story. Anyway, it's been fun.


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